


Animus

by horriblehorcrux



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angel Wings, Angst, Eventual Romance, Genderfluid Character, Human/Monster Romance, M/M, Male Slash, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Original Character(s), Other, Pop Culture, Romance, Sex, Sexual Tension, Shapeshifting, Supernatural Elements, Time Travel, Tom Riddle was Raised by Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-11
Updated: 2019-06-29
Packaged: 2020-02-29 21:46:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 27
Words: 123,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18786850
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/horriblehorcrux/pseuds/horriblehorcrux
Summary: The boy with a dark destiny. The man who lost his humanity. And the one fighting to save them all.





	1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not make a profit off this fanwork. All quotations, sources, or references to any: medias, places, people, fandoms, or other fanworks are intentional and are done in homage. They will be either be individually addressed in source notes at the end of each chapter, or in the final author's note.**  

Buscando una traducción en español? Por favor visita: _[Animus](https://www.wattpad.com/story/189214649-animus-%C2%A6tomarry%C2%A6)_

 

 ** ANIMUS ** 

 _ Defintion of Animus: _ 

  1. strong dislike or enmity; hostile attitude; animosity.
  2. purpose; intention; animating spirit.
  3. (in the psychology of C. G. Jung) the masculine principle, especially as present in women (contrasted with anima). 



_"animus," Unabridged. Source location: Random House, Inc._

 

Tom was walking in the snow. He was alone, but this wasn't too unusual. For him. Most eight-year olds walking alone at near midnight may have had another opinion, but Tom was different than most.

He approached the graveyard and with a turn of his hand he opened the gate. The snow was lightly falling, but he barely noticed the flakes as he progressed past the graves. After good several minutes of walking in absolute silence, the only noise the crunch of snow against booted feet, he found who he was looking for.

His guardian was perched on a grave. His eyes were closed, a pensive expression on his face. Snow drifted into his ruffled black hair, but did not stay long, fading as it alighted on his scalp. He was dressed in a thin black waistcoat, with no added layers of clothing.

This would be baffling to all except Tom, who was convinced his guardian could not feel cold. His large black wings were extended out, providing balance from on top of the gravestone. Tom was reminded of a bird sunning itself, if it was not nearly midnight and snowing.

Tom dug his hands into his pockets, fighting the urge to shiver in the cold. He let his eyes wander to the epitaph on the gravestone, where it read:

 

James Potter- Born 27 March 1960, Died 31 October 1981

and,

Lily Potter- Born 30 January 1960, Died 31 October 1981

_"The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death."_

 

He wondered who they were. After a few moments of standing in silence, Tom settled on a cough. In response his guardian's eyes slowly opened. Electric green pupils surrounded by black sclera focused on him.

"Tom." spoke his guardian. Tom nodded, shivering again. The black wings flapped out, then folded behind him. Noiselessly he dropped from the grave, black leather shoes pressing into the snow the only indication he had moved. He towered over Tom, leaning over, almost like he was smelling him.

"You are hungry and cold." came the toneless response.

Tom's stomach growled in response, and the eight-year old fought the urge to fidget in embarrassment. Instead he settled on kicking a drift of snow. His guardian waited patiently, until-

"Can we go to Tescos?" blurted Tom.

Inhuman eyes narrowed, but then closed in weary acceptance. Tom let out a small cheer, as his guardian inclined his head for him to lead. Tom raced ahead, nearly tripping over a grave in excitement until the two reached the main gate of the cemetery. His guardian closed the gate behind them, while Tom looked out into the night. The hour was quite late, and aside from the lights of the nearby church, there were no other souls out in the snowy evening air.

The two began to walk, and Tom managed to keep a step ahead, enjoying the small footprints he left in the deepening snow. Soon they approached the impressive frame of the neighbourhood church. Lights glowed from the large upper windows, and they could hear singing from within. The sound of the hymnals brought some comfort to Tom but seemed to little affect his solemn guardian.

As they passed by the church, Tom's eyes focused on a stained-glass window depicting a scene of the angel Gabriel visiting the Virgin Mary. He then flickered his gaze over to-

"I am not." replied his guardian to the unspoken question. Tom scowled.

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

His guardian didn't respond.

Finally, they walked to the outskirts of Godric's Hollow, where the bright lights of a garish Tescos store beckoned. Tom's face lit up in glee, as he pelted up into the store. He hesitated only a moment to ensure his guardian's presence was with him.

His guardian paused at the door, reaching into a pocket of his waistcoat. Shaking off the snow that had accumulated around his pocket, he drew forth a pair of circular eyeglasses. Placing them on the bridge of his nose, the black sclera suddenly shifted to a human white. He eyed his reflection in the glass of the sliding door, neon green eyes subdued to jade.

"Come on!" Tom grabbed his hand, his guardian hissing as he was hastily dragged into the warmth of artificial light. A fast flap of his wings, and they were as if they had never been there, vanishing in the light's touch.

A despondent teenager manned the counter, the only living thing in the store that evening. His brown eyes only briefly looked at them, attracted to the noise, but then went back to reading a magazine on the counter.

Tom released his guardian's hand, approaching a stacked display of soda and crisps. He mindlessly grabbed at the bags of crisps as his guardian simply watched.

After snatching as many of the crisps he could handle, he brought them forward to the counter, dumping the bags in front of the clerk. Tom's head twisted back to give his guardian a pleading look. Wordlessly the man approached the boy's side, his hand digging into his pants' pocket.

But no sooner had he done so, then did a thunderous **_BANG_** roar within the store. The teen behind the counter let out a startled scream, as debris came hurtling towards them. But with a swift swipe of his guardian's hand, the rubble harmlessly pelted away, only blanketing them in a thin layer of dust.

Half the shop's perimeter was missing. The ceiling, now open to the sky, began to drop fat snowflakes on the ground. Crisps were everywhere. But this hardly held Tom's interest. For suddenly into the store appeared several dark robed figures, with shining silver masks. The leader, Tom noticed, held a wand.

His guardian sucked in an unnecessary breath, and Tom felt his fingers dig into his small shoulder. Tom yelped, which was his mistake. The leader's mask snapped to the sound, and, without a moment's hesitation, he sent a green spell spiraling at them.

Tom's guardian didn't hesitate either. He tackled Tom to the ground as the green energy lashed over their heads. It unfortunately found a target in the store clerk, whose brown eyes widened and glazed with the instant stopping of his heart.

As the body fell, Tom squirmed under his guardian's larger bulk. Torn between fear and flight, he writhed, as his guardian snapped at him. "Don't move!"

His guardian needn't worried, because within moments a yellow burst of light drew forth. An opposing group had appeared in front of the duo, led by a short-haired woman.

Unlike their nemeses, this group was unmasked.

" _Protego_!" barked a male newcomer, and one of the masked men dropped. A silver masked man sent a green spell towards an opposing brown-haired man, who quickly deflected. Tom watched in amazement as the two factions began to earnestly duel each other, magic snapping back and forth.

But Tom's guardian was having none of that. Dragging himself to his feet, he spread reappeared black wings out to full-length, grabbing Tom by the arm. Tom knew what was coming next. His guardian had the ability to simply shift himself wherever he wanted to be. Tom prepared himself for the instantaneous transportation.

But neither were prepared as the short-haired woman turned to face them, her eyes going from Tom, then up to her guardian's, focusing on his forehead. Her eyes widened in recognition.

"Harry...?" she gasped out.

With that, the boy and his guardian winked out.

They reappeared again in Godric's Hollow, outside the large house they had called home for the past year.  His guardian stood immobile in the snow, as if someone had dumped ice water on his head.

"Uh...Harry?" Tom asked, shaking his guardian's hand. This seemed to rise the man from his stupor.

"We cannot stay here." his guardian stated, stalking forward to the door. Tom blinked, following him into the home. The winged man slammed the door open, not even hesitating as a drift of snow slumped in after it. Tom quickly shut the door behind them, kicking away the snow.

His guardian flicked the light switches on in the house and paced forward, his wings flapping out behind him. As the two ascended the staircase to the second floor of the house, Tom tugged on his guardian's waistcoat, not letting go until they were at the top of the stairs.

"Where will we go?" Tom asked.

"Away." His guardian frowned, and then dug into his pocket, removing his own wand. Tom noticed the glasses hadn't left his face.

With a flick of his wrist, his guardian had managed to summon the paltry belongings the two shared. This consisted of mostly Tom's things cramming into a brown suitcase which had appeared along with the rest of their things. Another loud noise came from outside, and Tom flinched.

His guardian waved the wand a final time, and with that, the suitcase shut itself. He re-pocketed his wand and brought his hands to his face, gently removing the glasses. The whites of his eyes flicked to pitch black.

A shudder went through the house. His guardian pocketed the glasses, now neon green eyes focusing on Tom.

"Come here."

Tom approached hesitantly, dipping down ever so slightly so that his small hand could clasp the handle of the brown suitcase.

"Take my hand."

Tom did. A loud crashing noise was heard, which Tom understood to be the front door breaking open. A cold blast of air rushed in, but it did not matter.

A group stalked in the home. Tom couldn't tell whether they were the masked figures or their opponents. All he could see as their image began to blur was their wands extended.

And so, the boy named Tom and the man once named Harry vanished.

 

Tom decided he didn't like their new home.

For starters, it was hardly new. In fact, it was the very same home they had left. However, there were a series of changes that Tom found he disliked in the place.

For starters, the television was gone. In its place was an over-sized radio which only played classical music (he suspected this was his guardian's doing). The rooms had a musty smell to them, with still black and white pictures of people neither he nor his guardian knew framed on the walls. The kitchen was smaller too. The electric stove was gone, as well as the microwave. Now there was a small oven, a fireplace, and a tea kettle.

As a matter of fact, Tom frowned as he spent the next day walking through their home, those weren't the only things. There were smaller changes that he picked up- for instance, all the electric outlets were missing.

This wasn't much of an inconvenience to one of them, considering his guardian probably didn't own anything that required a charge, (In fact, he didn't seem to own much of anything) but Tom, who had invested his birthday money on rechargeable batteries for his pocket radio and torch, was displeased.

"Tom." rang his guardian's voice from the kitchen. Tom abandoned his exploration of the second floor. He found his guardian sitting on a small stool, a mug of tea cradled between his pale hands.

His entirely black outfit was in stark contrast to the homely yellowness of the kitchen, and Tom felt the need to fight a smirk off his face of how out of sorts the picture looked. His guardian simply waved his hand for an indication for Tom to sit. He did so.

"You have questions." came the monotone voice.

Tom nodded, before blurting out, "Who were those men?"

"Men?" his guardian quirked an eyebrow, gently placing the steaming mug on the yellow table.

Tom scowled. "And women, fine. There was a woman too." His guardian shifted to allow the wingtips of his great black wings to drag on the floor.

"It is irrelevant now." His guardian began, and he held up a hand as Tom rose to his feet in protest of the unanswered question, "Because where we are, they do not exist yet."

"Where..we...are?" Tom repeated, still standing.

"Yes. We are in Godric's Hollow-"

"I figured that out-" Tom interrupted, but his guardian continued as if he hadn't heard-

"-1935." finished his guardian. Tom's eyes widened at that.

"We're...what?" Tom gaped. "But....we were in..." he suddenly realized wasn't quite sure of the date they had left. Tom scrunched his nose, "2003...2004?"

"Correct." His guardian picked the mug up again and sipped. It was still steaming- and knowing him as he did, he wouldn't have been surprised if it had been scalding.

"But...why did we leave?" asked Tom

"That attack." His guardian stared at the cup now, "Is a symptom of a greater evil in our world. The fighting is spilling into the streets as the war draws to a bitter close. We have been fortunate enough to mostly avoid such violent encounters. But they would have only increased the longer we stayed in that time. And if we had remained and re-encountered those men, we would have run the risk of facing... "

His guardian trailed off. Tom shifted in his seat, unsure of what to say. His guardian closed his neon-black eyes, pausing for a moment. He then opened them, neon green flicking to the boy's face.

"But that leads to why we are here. To prevent that future from happening." 

"Why now?" Tom asked.

"Remember when I told you you were adopted?"

"Yes...?" Tom hadn't pressed the circumstances of his birth, as it generally fell into the 'don't ask' category his guardian normally adhered to.

"I adopted you in 1929." His guardian's electric eyes met his own in a level stare. Tom swallowed.

"1929...?"

"Yes." his guardian calmly replied, "I do not expect you to remember."

Tom rubbed his head, trying to process all this information. "So, you came and brought me from the past...to the future?"

"Yes." His guardian looked up at an ornate clock fixed on the wall, then looked back to Tom.

"Why?" said Tom.

"Because I wanted you to understand what it will become. " He leaned forward, a pale finger tracing the rim of the steaming mug in a gentle, circular pattern. "We have always lived in hiding," his guardian said, "because of..."

"The Dark Lord." Tom automatically replied. "He who must not be named."

"....Yes."

"Is that who those masked men were?"

"His followers, yes."

"And the one who called you Harry?"

"My name is unimportant as is her name. What matters is what we do from here." His guardian then rose, making his way over to the fireplace.

Tom shifted in his seat, as the older man observed the fire. Wordlessly he waved his hand, and the fire began to grow warmer, licking up the length of the burning logs. He began to speak once more, eyes focused on the flames.

"It is imperative that no one knows we came from the future, Tom. Too many things could go wrong."

"Like what?"

"We could end up creating the future we are trying to avoid."

"Why don't we just stop it in the first place? That's why we came back, right? To get He-who must-not-be-named? " Tom kicked his legs out from the stool, as if to emphasize his point, "Let's go and kill him before he can even become the Dark Lord!"

This was apparently the wrong thing to say. His guardian's black wings suddenly snapped out to full length as he simultaneously slammed his fists down with a _CRACK_ on the top of the fireplace.  Large fissures appeared in the wall, and the room gave a small shudder.

Tom shrunk into his seat. His guardian kept his back to him.

 Minutes passed in awkward silence, as the man held his position half-bent over the impacted fireplace, balled hands dug into the brick. Finally, he dragged his hands away from the indentations in the hearth and stood up straight. His wingspan receded slowly.

"No." his guardian said softly. He didn't look at Tom.

Tom fidgeted, wishing in that moment he could disappear at will too. "Well...what do we do then?" 

His guardian turned around but didn't meet his gaze. Instead, he quietly walked over to the nearby sink, pausing over the silver basin. He reached out a pale hand to the faucet, twisting the handle and releasing the flow of water. He then moved his hands into the stream, brick dust sloughing off into the shimmering liquid. 

Tom had the impression he hadn't said the right thing. He tried again.

"How can we change the future?" Tom's eyebrows did the talking for him, and he willed his guardian to look at him. He watched as his guardian twisted the faucet off and reached out for a nearby hand towel. Drying himself methodically, the man turned to finally face Tom. He had a pensive look on his face.

"Well, that depends on you."

"Me?" asked Tom.

"Yes." His guardian's neon green eyes seemed to glow brighter as the afternoon sun faded into evening. With the black sclera, it was akin to staring at live electricity.

"Why me?"

"Because you know where we come from."

"But so do you."

His guardian sighed, depositing the hand towel to its holder. "I had my chance, Tom. The future will be determined by you." He slowly approached Tom from the sink, until he was towering over him.  Wordlessly, he extended a pale hand out towards Tom's head.

Tom froze at this display, unsure of what to do. His guardian's pale fingers reached and paused above Tom's hair, as if to ruffle it. But then the moment died, and his guardian pulled back.

Tom's heart squeezed painfully in his chest. He quickly turned his head away to stare at the nearby wall. He didn't want the other man to see his face.

"But why come now?" his guardian offered in response. Tom nodded glumly, still not looking at him.

"You need to adjust to this time. In three years you will go to school, and from there your choices may determine the future for the better. In the meantime, I will teach you."

Tom quickly turned to face his guardian again, his melancholy chased away by sudden interest. "Magic?" he asked shrewdly.

"Among other things, " his guardian studied his face. Tom dipped his gaze to his trainers to avoid further scrutiny. The allure of finally learning magic had solidified his dedication to his guardian's cause.

But still.

"I just don't get why we don't we stop the Dark Lord in first place."

"Who says we will not?" His guardian replied mysteriously.

Tom had no answer for that.

 

_1938_

Tom was sitting on the stairs of their home when the letter came. In fact, he was in the midst of attempting to non-verbally light a small pile of sticks aflame when, from the sky, dove a rather large tawny owl straight for his head.

Tom let out an undignified squawk as the bird swooped, and in doing so tumbled down the steps, ungracefully collapsing in a heap. A small tap resounded from his head, and he observed a yellow envelope spiral to the ground next to him. He scowled.

"Stupid bird." he groused. He watched the bird do a round -a-bout of the house and return to the sky. He wished he was proficient enough to throw a fireball after it, but in regards to his current failed attempts of setting sticks on fire, he was more likely to douse himself.

But whatever misgivings he had were erased when he saw the crest emblazoned on the envelope.

_Hogwarts._

He feverishly ripped open the letter, scanning the topmost parchment.

It read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Armando Dippet

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

 

Albus Dumbledore

Deputy Headmaster

 

Another piece of parchment fell out behind the first one, and Tom caught a glimpse of its titled as it cascaded to the ground.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require-

But he wasn't interested it in the slightest. No, his guardian had already briefed him of the sorts of things he would need for his upcoming term. What really grabbed his attention was how the letter had been addressed.

He grabbed the envelope itself, reversing it from the impressed seal to inspect the address.

Mr. T. Potter

13 Lavenham Place

Godric's Hollow, Suffolk.

"Tom?" inquired a voice from behind him.

Tom leaped to his feet, brandishing the letter like a prize. "It came, it came!"

His guardian rarely smiled, but the beginnings of one looked like it was twitching around his mouth. At least, those eyes creased slightly, indicating his pleasure.

"I suppose we'll have to make a few trips to get your school things, books, a wand, school robes-"

"Potter." interrupted Tom, holding out the letter, shaking it in emphasis. "It says Potter."

A pause.

"You've never told me my last name." Tom pressed. "It's Potter?"

His guardian stared at the address for a moment, then looked back to Tom's expectant face.

"Yes." he said.

"It's really my last name?"

His guardian nodded.

"Was it my father's?"

Now there was a frown.

"My mother's...?" Tom drifted the sentence, watching his face for any affirmation. While his guardian's past was always a sore point, asking about Tom's own was hit or miss. He knew he had been adopted from the past, but when he had eventually asked about his parents, his guardian had only mentioned of his mother's death.

His father was never mentioned.

"It was....my name." his guardian finalized.

"Your name?" Tom was floored. This was the equivalent of when his guardian had confirmed the existence of magic. Granted it was impossible not believe in when your caretaker had a 6-meter wingspan, but the admission at the time had still been momentous.

Much like the epiphany that suddenly struck Tom.

"Your name is Harry Potter." Tom stated triumphantly.

His guardian vanished.

 _Whatever_ , thought Tom, returning his attention back to the second page, well used to his guardian's mercurial mood swings. He spent the rest of the afternoon re-reading the letter on the stairs.

 

_September 1st, King's Cross._

Tom quickly scanned the train station, his agitation at the approaching deadline and the fear of not making the train in time worried his steps. "Come on!" he hissed, looking around frantically for the entrance to the platform.

Despite his insistence, Tom's guardian wasn't with him. When the monumental day had finally come, he had simply whisked them into what was (thankfully) an unused washroom at the station.

Tom had expected a grandiose speech, something on the likes of "The future depends on you." But all he had gotten was a "Do your best." and his guardian winked out.

He sighed for the umpteenth time, suitcase banging into his knees.

Tom luckily passed the right wall on the third go, as he observed a pair of blonde girls vanish into a wall. He nearly tripped himself trying to catch them, but soon found himself successfully through the enchanted brick.

Immediately the scenery changed, and he was observing what was the Hogwarts Express, exhausting plumes of red smoke into the air. His heartbeat began to increase in excitement. Finally, after years of waiting, he was finally going to Hogwarts to learn magic.

"Didn't I just see you?" someone said on his right.

Tom turned to the speaker, which was one of the blonde girls he observed walking into the wall.  "Uh..yes?" he replied.

"Did you get off the train for some air? It's about to leave."

The train whistled ominously at that, and he hurried onto the first carriage, unwilling to let destiny start without him.

 

Tom was hurried into the castle with the anxious group of first years to avoid the now rainy exterior of castle. He had met several more people since the train, but it had been difficult for him to hold conversation with anyone. Having spent eight years in the presence of a singular man, Tom's lack of social skills was coming back to bite him.

He mentally vowed to improve this, but his self-deprecation was interrupted by the arrival of the Sorting hat.

Tom squirmed nervously in his seat. His guardian had told him most everything of what to expect, so he hadn't been too afraid of this moment to come. But seeing the hat now, his stomach began to flip-flop, wondering:

_Tom and his guardian were sitting in the garden. The flourishing of the garden was Tom's doing, least, Tom had believed it so- he had only observed his guardian coming out and staring at the flowers from time to time. They were Chrysanthemums- Tom had spent one afternoon at a nearby florist, having initially picked out roses._

_Upon realizing their cost, he had spent a good twenty minutes confusing the shopkeeper when he had inquired about credit cards. Thankfully the issue was resolved when he had settled for the more affordable alternative._

_They were nice, Tom reflected, reds, whites, and a spattering of yellows._

_"There are four houses at Hogwarts." began today's lesson. Tom had turned away from observing the flowers to give his undivided attention, "Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, Slytherin, and Gryffindor."_

_"Each house values different qualities. Hufflepuffs for their loyalty, Ravenclaws their knowledge, Slytherin values cunning, and Gryffindor esteems bravery. Ultimately, the decision of which house you will be placed in rests with you."_

_"What house were you placed in?" asked Tom._

_His guardian tapped the table thoughtfully, as if considering answering this. "What house do you think I was placed in?" he replied._

_"Hufflepuff?" guessed Tom._

_A wry smile._

_"Gryffindor."_

 

".... _Oh I'm not much to look at,_

_in being a simple hat._

_So put me on, give me a try!_

_I'm so much more than meets the eye_."

Tom abruptly cut off from his thoughts when he realized he had ignored most of the sorting hat's song. He cursed himself. His guardian had mentioned the hat often relayed clues to upcoming events in the school, and in the knowledge he was here to prevent something from happening made it that much more irritating he missed it.

A tall bearded man approached the podium. He had reddish-hair with the faintest traces of grey intermingled in the mane. He also observed him placing small spectacles on his nose.

 _This must be Professor Dumbledore._ mused Tom.

"This year's students will be announced in reverse order. " he announced, which had the first years looking anxiously amongst themselves. "And in so doing thus, we will start from the back and work our way forward. Let's start with-" he looked to his parchment.

"Yardley, Nathaniel!"

Tom watched as the first nervous student sat, and the hat was placed surreptitiously over his head. The hat made a humming noise. "Yes, I see..." it said..... "better be....GRYFFINDOR!"

A loud cheer came from the Gryffindor table as the brown haired student pumped his first in victory. Professor Dumbledore gave a small smile, turning back to the parchment.

A few more names and houses were called, "Yaes, Micheal.... RAVENCLAW! Worthington, Matthew....HUFFLEPUFF! Wideman, Alice......RAVENCLAW! Watson, Janet...SLYTHERIN!"

A series of claps came over from the Slytherin table, as the blonde girl from the train earlier crossed over. Tom briefly eyed their assembly, recalling they valued cunning.

 _There were a lot of S names,_ Tom mused, as the seventh one approached the hat, "Saddle, Luke....GRYFFINDOR!" He found himself observing the ceiling, eyeing the nightscape. His guardian had mentioned the ceiling was enchanted- did the rain merely evaporate prior to contact, or was illusioned to disappear?

"Rosier, Mark....SLYTHERIN!"

Speaking of enchantment, what house would he go in? He glanced over at the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables. He hardly knew what traits he held in himself- he did read quite a bit, would that qualify him to the Ravenclaws? But he was loyal to this 'change the future cause.' Would the hat see that in him as well?

"..iddle, Tom...SLYTHERIN!"

Tom half-sprung in his chair at hearing his first name called. But then he realized his mistake and sat down, embarrassed. Some of the other first years sent him curious glances, but he shrugged deprecatingly, as if he didn't know why he had moved in the first place.

"Quentin, Adam.....RAVENCLAW!"

"Potter, Tom!"

He stood up, and the murmuring within the student body seemed to increase. Tom suddenly felt nervous, if all the eyes of the great hall were on him. The hat was waiting, and as he approached, he felt his palms begin to sweat.

Professor Dumbledore was watching him intently. Tom couldn't read the expression on his face, but it almost looked.... surprised?

He sat down, and the hat was placed on his head. A voice appeared.

"Didn't I just see you?"

"What?" Tom asked incredulously.

"You heard me." the hat replied obstinately.

Tom felt his face colour. Of all the things he had expected, a malcontent hat was not one of them. "Aren't you supposed to sort me?" He grit out.

"I already did. I put you in Slytherin."

Tom growled. "No you didn't, I just got up here!"

"Are you sure?"

Tom wondered if anybody else was hearing this, because this was too bizarre. Was this some kind of test? Would he be sent back home if he didn't answer correctly? How was he supposed to change anything if he was unfit for sorting?

"Can you please....sort...me..." he ground out.

"I suppose you won't leave if I don't." the hat said. "Don't see why I have to do it twice... Well, as I said before, it'll be Slyther-"

"No!" barked Tom. He flushed again, as he realized that was probably very audible to the audience. He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "I mean....if you already put me there, put me somewhere else this time."

The hat paused, as if it hadn't considered this.

Tom took in a deep breath and counted to ten.

"Well, better be....GRYFFINDOR!"

Tom opened his eyes, letting out a whoosh of breath.

A spattering of claps came from the Gryffindor table as Tom made his way over. His guardian's own house- a strange sort of pride came over him in that moment. He wasn't an easy person to live with, but this was surely some sign of the kinship the two shared. He sat down at the table, basking in the moment.

"So, disappointed you weren't sorted with your brother?" nudged an older student, interrupting his thoughts.

Tom blinked, looking up at the speaker sitting next to him. The Gryffindor had red hair and a spattering of freckles on his nose, and a shiny P pinned onto his dress robes. There was a certain look of mischief about him, so Tom decided he must be pulling his leg.

"I don't have a brother."

The older student grinned. "Excuse me, your twin then." Tom's brows furrowed. The student looked at him, expecting a response.

"No...?" Tom replied, unsure.

 The red-headed's grin didn't fade. "Well, he sure looks wound up."

Tom followed the student's gaze over to the Slytherin table. And he ended up locking eyes with...

_himself._

 

Tom's heart hadn't stopped pounding since the end of evening.

There was no way he could run over to the Slytherin table and demand answers, because it would appear strange in a setting where he was pretending to be a normal student.

What did it mean??

As the older students began to usher them up the stairs, Tom remained at the back of the group, trying to find a professor. He had to contact his guardian as soon as possible. But how? He didn't have an owl....would he need to post a letter? How long would that even take? But his questioning thoughts didn't have long to fester in his mind, as he was approached by-

"Professor Dumbledore!"

"Ah, yes, just the boy I was looking for!"

Tom rubbed his left arm in barely contained agitation- "Professor," he blurted "there's a-"

"Tom Riddle?" he replied understandingly.

"...Y-yes." _His name was Riddle._

"I have to say, when I saw you approach the sorting hat, I myself had to do double-take that you were not Mr. Riddle yourself."

"Right..." Tom said weakly.

"But judging by your reactions, I would say you were just as surprised as I was. " He glanced over him again, blue eyes flickering to his clenched fists. "Though it is a tad late, perhaps... we should reconvene on the morrow to discuss this further?

"I don't think I could sleep if I wanted to, Professor." Tom said, anxiously. Dumbledore looked sympathetic.

"Unfortunately Mr. Riddle has retired with his housemates to Slytherin already, so we will not get much information out of him. But perhaps we can contact your parents to them know of the situation?"

Tom bowed his head, feeling secondhand embarrassment for what he had to say, "Sorry, Professor, I don't have parents."

"My mistake." Dumbledore said kindly. "Your...?"

"I have a guardian." he fidgeted.

"Your guardian." Dumbledore repeated.

Tom nodded glumly, "I was adopted."

Dumbledore didn't comment. Instead, he gestured with a hand, and Tom swallowed his trepidation, following the professor into the gloom of the nearby passageway. They walked in relative silence, passing curious enchanted portraits.

 _Great._ thought Tom. _It's my first day at Hogwarts, and already something's gone wrong_

After what seemed like an hour (but was more in the range of ten minutes) they arrived at a painting of a rather squat knight, who was visibly sleeping on an even squatter pony. The two were practically making the same snoring noise together, and despite all Tom smirked.

Dumbledore gave Tom a long-suffering look, stated "Erumpent horn”, and rapped the painting. Both knight and horse let out a similar squawk of protest at being caught unawares- ("I never! " harrumphed the knight) but they were then granted access to an entrance-way behind the painting.

Tom scanned the room before he stepped in behind Dumbledore, a habit of years of hiding out. There wasn't anything in the room that looked dangerous- save a magnificently beaked scarlet bird that roosted above the professor's chair. It appeared to be sleeping. 

"Fawkes, my faithful friend." said Dumbledore fondly. He took a seat in the chair, and waved a hand, a matching chair appearing in front of an oak desk that divided the room. Tom sat.

"Now,"  asked Dumbledore, as if he had rehearsed this very speech earlier, "you are quite positive you have never known of a sibling?"

"No sir, " Tom said truthfully, "I was told I was an only child."

"I see." The professor folded his hands and leaned forward, giving Tom a once-over. " Aside from the... blatantly.. obvious similarities you share, the fact you were both orphans leads me to suspect some tie between you, given your magical heritage. I had the liberty of taking Mr. Riddle's case, and likewise, his file listed him as the sole child of a Merope Riddle. Does that name seem familiar to you?"

Tom shook his head, fixating on his hands. His guardian had never mentioned his mother's name.

"I see." said Dumbledore finally. "In that case...." He craned his head up to look at the perched bird.

"Fawkes, if you would be so kind." The bird, which had been for all intents and purposes asleep, came awake with a high-trill. It flapped scarlet wings in answer, and to Tom's astonishment, it swooped down from its high perch into the dormant fireplace. The fireplace immediately ignited at the birds approach, crackling into a respectable sized flume as the bird returned back to its perch.

Tom gaped, and Dumbledore winked at him. "Quite clever, phoenixes."

The professor reached for a small emerald box on the table and had pried it open to reveal a green powder within. He took a handful and gave a searching look to Tom. "You live in Godric's hollow?" asked Dumbledore.

 "Yes." He wondered how he knew that, (Tom certainly hadn't told him) but it was late enough nor was Tom willing to interrogate a professor. "13 Lavenham place." Dumbledore tossed the ashes into the fireplace. Immediately the flames winked green.     

"Now, we are operating on the assumption your guardian is at home and awake." Dumbledore gestured for Tom to rise as he did, and the two stood parallel to each other in front of the flames. Dumbledore knelt, as did Tom. He wondered what would happen.

But his thoughts were interrupted as the flames morphed into what was clearly the kitchen of their home. Tom suddenly felt nervous. Suppose his guardian became upset this was all taking place. _Well it’s his fault we're in this situation anyway._

"Am I speaking to a Mr. Potter?" asked Dumbledore.

The room appeared empty and dark, save a small candle that was lit on the table. Tom's stomach fell, as the candle appeared in danger of burning out. It had the look of having been burning for several hours unaccompanied.

_So much for all this._

"My eyes are not as good as when I was younger, but I am quite confident I see you." Dumbledore said. Tom stared at the professor, and then re-looked. At the corner of the room was a dark shadow. It rustled, then drew forth into the light like a wraith.

"Professor Dumbledore." the shadow replied.

Tom realized it was his guardian. He was wrapped in a huge black blanket, which made him look like a large specter. His glasses were on as well, Tom noted.

"I am glad to make your acquaintance." said Dumbledore, "I do apologize for the lateness of the hour."

"It is not a problem. “his guardian replied. Tom noticed he wasn't looking directly at Dumbledore, rather, he was fixating on the space near his feet.

"We have encountered an unusual situation at Hogwarts that I wanted you to be aware of," said Dumbledore. "Your son, Tom, assured me he was an only child, but circumstances have led us to believe that this is not so."

 _I'm not his son,_ Tom thought, annoyed.

"What circumstances?" his guardian replied.

"To be frank, there is a near identical boy here at Hogwarts named Tom Riddle. Is that name familiar to you?"

"...It is." confirmed his guardian. Tom's mouth dropped.

"Can you tell me what he might have in common with Tom Potter?"

His guardian looked at Tom now, and Tom's face did the talking for him. But his guardian didn't even hesitate, green eyes boring into his own:

"His father's name was Tom Riddle."

"Ah!" said Dumbledore. "The very same name as our young Tom."

Tom blanched. Did that mean he shared his father with Tom Riddle...? That would make him....his brother???

_All this time he had a brother and his guardian conveniently forgot to mention it?_

Professor Dumbledore then leaned back, looking to Tom. "Young Tom Riddle was born as an only child to Merope Riddle, who unfortunately perished at Wool's Orphanage shortly after giving birth to him.  There are no records of a second child, which would be impossible, given that she had died immediately after delivering her son."

Dumbledore then rose from his kneeling position, idly brushing at his knees from the dust on the ground, "I'm afraid I do not know much about the senior Tom Riddle, but I will certainly have either myself or the headmaster look into it. "

His guardian then nodded.

"Was there anything you wanted to say, Mr. Potter?"

Tom waited for his guardian to respond, but then realized that Professor Dumbledore was referring to him.

"Er...." Tom hesitated. There was much he wanted to say, but a memory appeared in his mind. _We could end up creating the future we are trying to avoid._ Tom froze, and he saw his guardian give him the smallest nod.

"How can I talk to you again?" he blurted.

Dumbledore chuckled. "I don't suppose you have an owl, Mr. Potter? The school has several that are well-trained for the needs of students. You are more than welcome to use one at any time."

"Thank you, sir." said Tom, feeling foolish.

"If that will be all...?" his guardian finalized.

"I believe so, Mr. Potter. Thank you for your time."

"Wait!" Tom interrupted.

Both Dumbledore and his guardian simultaneously looked at him. He blushed, suddenly feeling shy. "Uh..." he looked at his feet, then giving a hesitant look over to his guardian's curious face. "I just wanted to tell you....I'm in Gryffindor."

His guardian shifted on his feet, shrugging the blanket closer around himself. He looked as if he wanted to say something. But his green eyes only shut for the briefest moment as he replied, "Congratulations."

"You must be the first to know." said Dumbledore. "I do not believe any owls have reached the homes of students yet. And with that knowledge, I bid you a good evening, Mr. Potter."

His guardian nodded, and Dumbledore waved his hand, the green fire shifting into red-gold. He sighed, then looking to Tom Potter. "This answers some questions, but creates new ones, I am afraid."

"...You're telling me." said Tom, who then had to stifle a yawn.

Dumbledore smiled, patting his shoulder genially. "The hour is quite late, Tom, and I am sure you do not wish to miss your first day of lessons?"

"No sir!" Tom shook his head vigorously. Dumbledore paused at that.

"I will pass along a note to your Transfiguration professor that you will be late in the morning." He then motioned for Tom to follow him, and he pushed open the door, letting in a cool breeze from the hallway. "You will need a full night's rest after what has been a rather eventful day."

"I wouldn't want to be a bother," said Tom hurriedly.

Dumbledore chuckled. "It is not a bother at all, my dear boy.... because the Transfiguration professor is _me_."

Tom stared, and Dumbledore gave him a wink.

  
**Sources:**

_St. Jerome's Graveyard:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/St_Jerome's_graveyard>

_Potter Graves:_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/James_and_Lily_Potter's_grave> _

_Harry's Waistcoat:_

_<http://www.aceshowbiz.com/images/news/00038636.jpg> _

_"Can we go to Tescos?"_

_<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tesco> _

_Short-haired woman:_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Nymphadora_Tonks> _

_Silver Masks:_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Death_Eaters> _

_Wings out to transport from Tescos: film inspiration, Constantine (2005)_

_<https://68.media.tumblr.com/4b0e02b142d75e320f47b2983e85d68c/tumblr_o7zzosN4NH1vosiddo2_500.gif> _

_Harry slams his fists into the fireplace, Harry Potter Films_

_<https://68.media.tumblr.com/b13f21198a36c043c81d6615400622de/tumblr_oe79m2RGRM1vbopkgo3_250.gif> _

_Hogwarts Letter Format, Signature:_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hogwarts_acceptance_letter> _

_Chrysanthemum_

_<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chrysanthemum> _

_Dumbledore_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Albus_Dumbledore> _

_Floo Powder_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Floo_Powder> _

 


	2. Chapter 2

  _The morning had been rather uneventful, all things considered_ , Tom thought.

He hadn't been late to Transfiguration. Having a lived a life mostly on the run, he was accustomed to getting up at weird hours of the night and hastily moving. Granted, that hadn't happened since they had officially settled nearly three years ago, but old habits died hard.

But if he had let out the occasional yawn, Professor Dumbledore hadn't called him on it, and for that he was grateful.

"Now let's see, what's next...?" He inspected his syllabus, trying to find where his next block of class was.

Potions, it read.

With Slytherin.

"Oh boy." said Tom.

 

The classroom was in the dungeons, and despite it being September, it was rather chilly.

"Good morning, students!" bellowed a voice from behind them. Tom flinched and turned his head back to the source. "If we haven't been introduced, well then, there's no time like the present. I will be your Potions master, Professor Horace E. F. Slughorn!"

Tom wasn't looking at him now, but at his double, who was giving him the darkest look from where he was seated in the back of the class. Tom made a face at him.

"No need for that son!" Professor Slughorn chuckled absentmindedly, patting Tom's shoulder. Tom faced forward again, but he could feel Riddle's eyes boring into the back of his head.

"Now, today's is a rather exciting lesson. We will be brewing the Hiccoughing Solution..." a collective groan echoed from the class. "Now now, I understand some of you may be familiar with more exotic potions, but I assure you, having a cause of the hiccoughs and unable to do anything about them is no laughing matter!"

"Now, to get started, open your books to page 394..." Tom hastily flipped his book open, thumbing it open to the page. 

"Yes, for starters you will need your cauldrons..." The students all rustled below their desks, dragging the heavy pots up to the table. "Splendid! Now who can tell me, what the first ingredient in the Hiccoughing Solution is?"

"Ginger Root, sir." came a low voice from behind Tom.

"Very good Mr. Lestrange, very good. Five points to Slytherin!" The portly man chucked, leaning aside Tom's desk, and nodding to him eagerly. "Always rewarding when my own house obtains points, but by no means be shy, Gryffindor!" But then Slughorn's eyes focused on Tom's face.

"By word..." He then looked towards the back of the room. "Why Mr. Riddle, you didn't tell me you had a sibling!"

 _That's because he didn't._ thought Tom.

"Should have paid more attention during the Sorting, I suppose." Slughorn went on, oblivious to the drop of temperature that had escalated in the room. "I imagine you will want to sit together?"

 _No no no._ thought Tom, horrified.

"And in different houses...not unheard of! Tom, why not bring your things up and sit next to..." He gestured helplessly at the seated Tom, who pulled at his red and gold tie, swallowing audibly.

"Tom...Potter..." he squeezed out.

"And your name is Tom as well? How peculiar. Well Mr. Potter, I certainly won't keep you two separated in this class, goodness knows you'll experience that in your Houses."

 _I want to die._ thought Tom.

A stomping noise was heard, and then a sudden BANG of a cauldron being place next to his. Tom Potter turned his gaze up to the malevolent looking Tom Riddle.

"Hi there?" he said helplessly. Tom Riddle's grey eyes slitted.

"Hello indeed." he replied.

  
It was an awkward class to be sure. Granted, Tom barely paid attention because of well...the _other_ Tom, but it didn't help that he was apparently abysmal at Potions.

Twice Riddle had slapped his hand out and dragged Tom's away from his own cauldron, just after he accidentally dropped a third beetle eye in the concoction. It had turned an odd yellow.

 _Oh help_. thought Tom.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" sneered Riddle.

Tom glared back. "I would if you'd stop distracting me!"

Riddle snorted and returned back to his own cauldron. It was simmering a deep violet and had the distinct smell of cherries.

Tom's smelled like boiled spinach, and he was quite certain that shade of yellow did not qualify as anything good.

"Ah Mr. Potter, a beetle eye too many, I'm afraid!" Professor Slughorn said, tutting to himself. "But Mr. Riddle, outstanding work, just the shade of purple we are looking for!"

"Thank you, Professor," Riddle said, eyes lowering deferentially, "It was only accomplished with the aid of your instructions." Professor Slughorn beamed and moved off to the next pair of students.

 _Suck up._ thought Tom.

  
The class ended without much fanfare.

 _So much for having a sibling._ groused Tom. Riddle hadn't bothered helping him, and so he had been forced to bottle the yellow monstrosity and turn in it. _Well, at least this is the first day..._ Tom thought. _No one can be perfect._

As he turned to exit the room, he immediately felt the crushing sensation of someone's fingers in his upper arm.

Riddle.

"A word, Potter." said Riddle. Tom sucked in a breath. _This was going to happen eventually._ he reminded himself.

"Now?" he asked stupidly.

"Now." agreed Riddle. He dragged Tom out into the hallway, and then gave quick look around. Finding no one there, he then slammed Tom into the wall, and drew his wand out, pointing it at his throat.

"I suppose you find this funny, don't you?" Riddle hissed, jabbing the wand threateningly.

"Not really." Tom replied.

"Who are you, and why are you wearing my face?" snapped Riddle. "Is this some kind of magical spell?"

Tom blinked for the longest moment. _He thinks I'd make myself look like him?_ he scowled, and then lifted his hand, pushing Riddle's wand down from his throat. The motion caused his shoulder bag to fall to the ground.

"Think about what you just said." Tom glared. "I just met you today, why would I make myself to look like you?"

"To make fun of me." Riddle snarled.

"I don't even know you!" Tom said, exasperated.

Riddle leaned in, staring him directly in the eyes. Tense moments passed as the boys stared at each other.

 _It's like he's trying to read my mind._ thought Tom.

But as soon as Tom began to lean back, Riddle gave a slow intake of breath, seeming to have come to a decision on something.

"You seem familiar, anyway." Riddle said. "Have we met?"

"In a mirror I guess..." Tom replied sarcastically, but then the wand came back at his throat. "Look, I'm just as confused as you. So maybe we can talk, if you put the wand down?"

Riddle let out a growl, but the wand dropped, and he released Tom from his grip.

"Talk." said Riddle.

A chime echoed through the hall, and Tom winced, recognizing the sound. "We don't have much time until class, could we meet later this evening?" Tom said, anxiously. "Let's say.... eight....outside the Great Hall?"

Riddle glared. "How do I know you'll show?'

Tom wanted to run his hand over his face. He settled for tapping his hands against the stone wall. "How about in the knowledge that if I don't, you can easily pour poison into my cauldron in our next Potions lesson?"

Riddle gave him a nasty smirk.

"I'll see you later then, Potter." He dragged the surname out, and then left Tom alone in the hallway. Tom kicked an imaginary dust-ball at his departure, dropping down and then hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

"How are we _even_ related."

 

The rest of the day went as well as a first day could go, and eight o'clock found Tom Potter standing outside the Great Hall.

He was exhausted. Having slept a few hours and a full day of classes, accompanied by a rather handsome meal, all he wanted to do was climb back into the Gryffindor dormitory and have a full night's sleep.

 _Unfortunately, if I bail, he'll put poison in my drink._ thought Tom tiredly.

He soon heard footsteps behind him, and he turned, facing his counterpart. "Tom." he acknowledged. Riddle scowled.

"Potter." he said. He looked him over. "How did you get that name anyway?"

"It's my guardian's." Tom said, looking over Riddle's shoulder. "Let's go find somewhere to sit."

The two walked away from the Great Hall until they reached a stone bench in a nearby alcove. Riddle didn't immediately sit. Instead, he paced up and down the hallway, looking around the ends of the long room. Satisfied when he did not find anyone, he sat down beside Tom.

 _Suspicious much?_ thought Tom.

Tom opened his mouth to start the conversation, but Riddle beat him to the punch. "Professor Slughorn told me you talked to Dumbledore last night." said Riddle.

 _Right, Professor Slughorn was head of Slytherin house._ "Yes," said Tom.

"What did he tell you about me?"

"He told me you were an orphan..." Tom began cautiously wording, as Riddle seemed to share in his guardian's ability to fly off the handle at a moment's notice, "...that your mother was Merope Riddle?"

"She's not important." Riddle interrupted, leaning in closer. "What did he tell you about my father?"

"Your father?"

"Yes."

"Don't you mean our father?"  
  
"Whatever," said Riddle. "What did he say?" His face had a hungry look on it.

"His name was Tom Riddle?" Tom replied, confused.

"Anything else? What house he was sorted in, what profession he had?" Riddle was leaning uncomfortably close now, so Tom took the opportunity to scoot himself a hair's breadth further down the bench.

"No, he didn't say anything about that."

Riddle frowned.

"I tried to find out everything I could this summer when I was at the orphanage." Riddle leaned back, and Tom let out the breath he had been holding, "but they didn't have anything. Doubtless because our father was a great wizard, and Muggles like them wouldn't know anything about it."

"Our father...a great wizard?"

"He had to be," Riddle said, interlocking his fingers as he sat up even taller, "how else would he have had two magical offspring?"

_Well, at least he is accepting I'm not someone running around pretending to be him._

"Speaking of which, who was your mother?"

Tom's face fell, and he stared at the floor. "My guardian wouldn't say. All he's told me was that she died."

"Who's your guardian then?"

"Um..." How to describe him. "Well, he's a man-"

"I figured as much-" said Riddle.

"He was a wizard like us-" Tom began ticking off his fingers.

" _Was_ a wizard?"

"Is a wizard." corrected Tom, mentally kicking himself. "He has green eyes, black hair, a weird scar on his face-"

"I'm not looking for a physical description of him," Riddle grumbled. "What does he do?"

"Uh..." Now Riddle had backed him into a corner. He tugged on his collar again. "Well, lots of times he's not at home."

"Where does he go?"

"Out...says he's doing.... stuff...?" Tom realized in that moment he knew even less about his guardian than was satisfactory. Riddle's face told him that.

"You live with someone and you don't even know what they do?" Riddle said, honest confusion on his face.

"Look, he doesn't like to talk very much," Tom said hotly, feeling his face colour. "Ever since we got to this time, he's been tutoring me, does that qualify as anything?"

Tom realized his mistake as soon as Riddle's eyes narrowed. "Got...to this time?" He repeated slowly.

 _Bollocks._ He knew his guardian would have had words for him cursing, but that was perhaps the least of his worries now.

"Did I say time? I meant-" he hesitated. What did he mean?

"This place." Riddle said for him. Tom didn't miss his smirk. "Ever since we got to this place."

"Look, you can't tell anybody," he said exasperated.

"Who am I going to tell?" Riddle said, eyebrows raising. "That is, of course, if you tell me everything about where you come from."

_He thought I was lying about spelling myself to look like him but he's not even questioning I'm from the future?_

"Well I can't do all that-" Riddle opened his mouth to interrupt- "Because I don't know everything about where I come from."

"Do you know anything at all?" Riddle said, sarcastically.

Tom scowled. "You know what I mean. I was eight! All we ever did was hide out. Ask me what the future's like, and I'll tell you the different kinds of houses we lived in, the weird neighbourhoods we ended up in, and the stores we sometimes shopped in-"

"What were you hiding from?" Riddle said, curious.

Well, the cat was out of the bag, so there was no sense covering it up. "The Dark Lord." Tom Potter said, looking into Riddle's grey eyes.

"The Dark Lord? Who's he?" Riddle asked.

"A dark wizard," Tom recited, remembering-

_He and his guardian were in their newest home. His guardian had begun to inspect the house, taking out the brown wand he always carried and pointing it at the walls._

_"Protego Totalum." he whispered, and the wall glowed blue._

_"What's that?" Tom had asked. He had never seen his guardian do this before._

_"A spell to keep people out." said his guardian, turning back to face his young ward._

_"Who do we have to keep out?"_

_"Bad people." his guardian said. Seeing his charge's confused look, he had sighed, bending down to his level. "Tom, you have been with me two years now-"_

_"Yes." said Tom, repeating. His memories were fuzzy of when he'd first met his guardian, but two years was a long time in his short life. It had seemed like forever to him._

_"What do know of my magic?" his guardian asked._

_"Well, I know it helped me when I scraped my knee one time," he scrunched his nose, "You sometimes use it get our stuff-"_

_"Right-"_

_"But you don't really use it much." Tom said._

_"Do you know why?" his guardian replied. Tom shook his head._

_"Magic can leave traces." his guardian said, raising himself from his bent position on the floor to tower over Tom. His neon green and black eyes closed for a moment, then he re-pocketed his wand._

_"Is that why you have that?" Tom pointed at his guardian's forehead. A lightning bolt, his guardian had said, when he first asked what it was._

_"Yes."_

_"How?" the boy asked, genuine curiosity showing in his eyes. His guardian then scrutinized him for moment, but then nodded his head slowly, as if reaching some internal agreement._

_"When I was just a baby, a dark wizard came to my home, and killed my parents. "_

_Tom felt horrified. He didn't know who his own parents were, but his guardian never talked about killing. He knew this was very bad._

_"He tried to kill me- but he could not." He tapped his forehead. "Instead, I got this mark. A curse scar."_

_Tom nodded, taking this all in. His guardian did an exhale of breath, which was uncanny. He didn't seem to breathe much._

_"I have tried to keep our life as normal as I can, but frankly, it has been getting much harder." said his guardian. "Last week several homes were raided on behalf of Volde- the Dark Lord. He who must not be named. That's why we had to leave our last house." he said quickly._

_"The Dark Lord? Who's he?"_

_"The one who gave me this scar." Tom's eyes widened. "The one who killed my parents."_

_"The dark wizard?"_

_"Yes. If he knew about you..." his guardian trailed off._

_"He would kill me too?"_

_"That is what I am afraid of." his guardian said. Tom, becoming frightened, gave a rather loud sniff._

_"Why would he want to kill me?" he whimpered, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes._

_His guardian's wings twitched._

_"...Because of what you represent." he said, quietly._

_"What's that?" Tears were falling freely now from Tom's face._

_"Hope."_

 

"So what's he like, this Dark Lord of yours?" Riddle asked, after Tom had finished.

"Well, aside from the killing, my guardian told me he also runs the government and controls people by intimidating them. "

"Sounds like a powerful man," said Riddle, looking interested.

"He's evil, and I'm here to put a stop to him." Tom contested, not liking the gleam in Riddle's eye.

"How are you going to stop him then?" Riddle asked politely.

"I don't know yet. My guardian told me I would have the power to change it. But he didn't say how."

"I would like to meet him. " Riddle said. Tom blinked. "Your guardian."

"Meet him? But..." _I doubt he will want to meet you._ What Tom had observed of him, the man rarely interacted with anybody. He wasn't likely to take to Tom Riddle either.

"Unless you want to tell him what I know...or should I ask a Professor about it, just to be sure?" Riddle said, letting the threat hang in the air.

 _Jerk._  

"Well, we just started term, so unless you know some way to leave the school grounds to drop by my house, I doubt you'll get the opportunity."

‘”We get a break over winter." Riddle informed him. "I could meet him then."

Tom paused.

"You want to...come to my house?"

"Not to stay," snapped Riddle. "I just want to meet your guardian. He survived some great Dark Lord, I think he can handle an orphan."

A deep chime finished their conversation, indicating their need to return to the dorms. Riddle stood up, as Tom likewise did the same. Riddle took a step away, but then half-turned, giving Tom a dismissive look.

"Also, I need to confirm the fact you did come from the future, and you are not crazy." He sniffed. "I'd hate to believe somebody sharing my blood was insane."

Tom Potter watched him walk off to the dungeons, in disbelief.

_This guy...._

 

The term progressed without further incident. Tom wrote to his guardian, asking him to clarify about his mother. He received a short reply-

 _"We will talk about it in person."_ Still not an answer, but at least it was a start.

He and Riddle were by no means friends, but they had come to a truce of 'not enemies.' Riddle didn't ask him much about the future after their first conversation, ( _because you don't know anything, so why waste my time)._ Tom Riddle then asked him about his own life.

"What is your wand made out of?" Riddle asked, one late November afternoon. By now the whole school had accepted that the boys were long-lost brothers, and so nobody questioned why a Gryffindor and Slytherin were off by themselves. They were sitting partially outside, in one of the old courtyards of the school.

"Holly." Tom responded. Riddle withdrew his own wand, and the two boys compared wands, side-by-side. Tom's wand was two inches shorter, by looks.

"Mine's Yew." Riddle said, "I guess you got yours from Ollivander's as well?"

"Actually..."

_He and his guardian were finally in Diagon Alley. Tom couldn't keep the amount of gasps contained as they passed various shops displaying goods that he couldn't have dreamed of if he had tried. Owls, floating books, pewter cauldrons, and- were those actual flying broomsticks-_

_"Well, first things first, you will need a wand." his guardian said. He had his glasses on, and long robes, which were a deep shade of forest green. Tom had been mightily impressed with this, considering his guardian's wardrobe was usually blacks. The colour on him was striking. The man appeared wingless, but Tom had known he was only hiding them._

_Now they were standing in front of a shop, "OLLIVANDERS- MAKER OF FINE WANDS SINCE 382 B.C."_

_"Remember, be polite." said his guardian._

_Tom scowled. "I know how to behave, I'm not three." His guardian had pushed open the door, only looking down to Tom when he said-_

_"Mr. Ollivander can be a bit...."_

_"Good afternoon" crooned a voice from within the shop. "My third customer today. Must be getting ready for Hogwarts?"_

_Tom hesitated, and giving a look to his guardian, who had shut his mouth. The boy stepped forward towards the large counter, where an antique register was half-opened, exposing the machinery within. Tom's eyes took in the musty room. The entire place was covered in dust and boxes. A mummified parrot was up on a shelf._

_"Why yes...." a small, middle-aged man suddenly appeared behind the counter, which had the effect of startling Tom. "A student. But I've never met you before?" He was looking at his guardian now._

_"No." replied his guardian._

_"Might I have the pleasure of your name?" Mr. Ollivander asked politely._

_Tom watched his guardian chew his lip. "It is..." he flicked his eyes over to Tom, then back to Mr. Ollivander. "...Potter."_

_"You have a strong magical signature, Mr. Potter. I am surprised we have never encountered each other before, given that you have one of my wands in your pocket."_

_His guardian froze. Tom wondered if he was going to pull a disappearing act and abandon him in the store._

_"Very curious..." said Mr. Ollivander. But he then turned his gaze to Tom. "But no matter. We are here for your wand."  Mr. Ollivander turned and left them, and Tom turned his gaze up to his guardian, who was biting the inside of his mouth._

_"What was that about?" he asked._

_"Not now, Tom." The man grit out._

_"Not now Tom." Tom repeated back, mockingly. "Ouch!" For his guardian had boxed his ears._

_"Jeeze, can't take a joke..." muttered Tom. Mr. Ollivander returned with several boxes._

_"Ah yes, give those a try- the first one, Maple and dragon heartstring, reasonably flexible."_

_Tom took the first wand out, and gave it wave. The mummified parrot fell down._

_"No no, that is not what we are looking for." Mr. Ollivander snatched the wand. "Try this one, pine and unicorn hair, slightly rigid."_

_Another wave. This time a shelf of boxes exploded, sending wands flying. Tom's ears burned red in embarrassment._

_"No matter, no matter." said Mr. Ollivander, snatching the wand._

_They must have gone through at least thirty more wands. Each one was not the right fit, according to the wandmaker._

_"Tricky customer? Not an issue. Why I just had one this morning, and his wand was Yew..." He paused then, inspecting Tom. "On reflection, he looked much like you, Mr. Potter, save the eyes. Very curious. Perhaps a similar wand might be in order."_

_His guardian suddenly stepped front of Tom, interrupting. "Would this wand suffice?" He was holding up his own wand. Mr. Ollivander looked at it, beady eyes fixated._

_"Holly, 11 inches, phoenix feather." he recited. He seemed to do a double take, looking back into the store at something Tom could not see. "But that wand is-"_

_"Would it?" insisted his guardian. Mr. Ollivander sighed._

_"It would not hurt to try." He looked at Tom now._

_Tom took the wand from his guardian's hand and gave it a wave._

_Power suddenly shot down his arm. A warm feeling began to expand from his chest, and the air crackled with the sensation of static electricity._

_"Wow..." said Tom._

_"A match." said Mr. Ollivander. But then he was looking at his guardian. "But you would give up your own wand?"_

_Tom looked to him, curious to what he would say._

_"I would." said the man. Tom felt a sort of buzz run through him at his admission. "It belongs to him now."_

_"Very well. " replied Mr. Ollivander._

_Tom gave the wand another flick, then hummed contentedly, placing it in his coat's pocket. His guardian's hand gently gripped his shoulder, giving him a squeeze. Tom's heart glowed with happiness, and in that moment, he longed to hug his guardian in thanks for his sacrificing of his own wand._

_But the moment was interrupted by Mr. Ollivander, who cleared his throat audibly._

_"But a word of caution, Mr. Potter." the wandmaker's eyes gleamed, as his voice lowered. "Many a great wizard has met an even greater disappointment in trying to change things he does not understand."_

_"I'll be careful." said his guardian stiffly, pulling his hand back from Tom's shoulder. Tom's heart contracted painfully._

_"I bid you the best, then." said Mr. Ollivander, and he bowed them from the shop._

 

"He must have been referring to you..." said Tom, thoughtfully.

"What, about changing something you don't understand?" said Riddle.

"No! I meant what he said about the Yew wand." he pointed at said wand. Riddle inspected his own wand, then re-pocketed it. His eyes then flicked over to Tom's face, meeting his gaze. "He was also right about the eyes."

"Hm?"

"Your eyes," said Riddle, peering. "They're-"

"Hazel. " the other boy replied.  The two sat in an awkward silence, until Tom spoke up again.

"How are you planning to come over this Yule?"

Riddle re-adjusted his green and silver scarf, crossing his arms after he had done so. "I told the Orphanage I'd be late." Seeing Tom's curious look, he scowled. "What?"

"They just...let you do that?"

"I think they were hoping I wouldn't come at all." said Riddle stiffly.

 _Ouch._ "Well, I could ask my guardian if you wanted to stay-"

"We are not friends, Potter, we are siblings. Let's make that clear." Riddle stood up, indicating the conversation was at a close. "I do not need, nor care for your sympathy."

"Look," said Tom, feeling annoyed, "You can just stay at school for the holiday, you don't even have to go back-"

"Don't push your luck, Potter." snapped Riddle. The wand was out, pointing at his chest. Tom didn't even bother flinching, used to Riddle's bullying.

"It's funny you say we're siblings, 'cause we're barely even that." Tom was feeling angrier and angrier, and he stood up, meeting Riddle's eyes. "The only reason you even bother with me is because you want to know about the future!"

"You would too, if you were sensible enough." said Riddle, softly. He had a dark look on his face. "I'm destined for great things. I want to know what will come so I can make them happen."

"All you're destined for is a life by yourself, because no one'll put up with you!" snarled Tom.

" _Flipendo_." Riddle said, and suddenly Tom was struck backwards with an impact to the chest. He fell down into a pile of dead leaves, which thankfully cushioned his fall. It unfortunately did nothing about the breath that was knocked out of him.

"You are such a-" Tom wheezed.

"Finish that sentence, Potter." Riddle growled as he loomed over him. His wand shot out red sparks. "I dare you."

"Dare what, Mr. Riddle?"

Riddle froze. Professor Dumbledore was standing in one of the alcoves of the courtyard. He had a stern look on his face, and his arms were crossed.

"Nothing, Professor." said Tom Riddle coolly, lowering his wand to face the professor. The elder man approached, until he was standing over Riddle.

"I am afraid I will have to deduct points from Slytherin for your behaviour, Mr. Riddle." said Dumbledore. "A detention is also in order."

Tom quickly stood up, leaves falling haphazardly around him. "No Professor, there's no need, I just said some things, and he just...well-"

He didn't need anyone's help dealing with Tom Riddle, and the less motivation Riddle had to antagonize him, the better. But he struggled to word it in a way that would get him off clean.

"Reacted?" finished Dumbledore. Tom nodded slowly, while Riddle shot him a confused look. _This isn't for you_ , Tom thought, _it's for me._

"Might I ask what the topic was about?" Professor Dumbledore said. Tom gulped. _How was he going to get out of this one-_

"It was just about our mutual father, Professor." Riddle smoothly replied. He inclined his head towards Tom. "He thinks he abandoned us. "

 _What?_ Tom shot Riddle a bewildered look. Tom Riddle had never said such thing, so...where was he going with this?

"And you do not feel this way, Mr. Riddle?"

 _I bet you do_ , thought Tom.

"No. Our father must have had his reasons." Riddle said. "Once I learn more about him, I'll find out why."

Dumbledore's stern expression morphed into something almost...sympathetic?

"I will not dissuade you boys for looking into your respective families. That is your right. But I would caution you." He leaned forward then, his blue eyes flicking between the two Toms, "Your expectations may not meet up to what is the reality of things."

 _He knows something,_ thought Tom. _Something about our father._

Riddle seemed to sense this too, because he only bowed his head in a sign of submission. "I understand, Professor."

"That will not stop your punishment, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore said, "You must learn, Tom, that in order to inspire any comradeship, you must control your emotions."

 _All he wants to inspire is fear and terror,_ thought Tom sarcastically.

"I understand Professor, and I accept my punishment." Riddle replied.

"I trust you boys will act more diplomatically towards each other in the future?" Dumbledore said.  "Need I remind you that as blood relations, as the old adage goes, 'you only have each other'?"

Riddle looked like he had been stuck with a hot poker. Tom, feeling more cheerful at Riddle's obvious discomfort, only replied:

"That's just what I was going to say, Professor, before he hit me with that spell!"

 

Tom had written his guardian about a week prior to the holiday release, letting him know Tom Riddle was coming with him. He hadn't responded. _Well, you know what they say, no news is good news..._ thought Tom.

As he disembarked from the train, he scanned the platform, looking for said other Tom. Despite having the same destination, the boys hadn't ridden in the same carriage together. That would just be too familiar for Tom Riddle, who had optioned to sit with his housemates.

Tom Potter had sat by himself. Despite his best efforts, he hadn't made any friends yet.

 _Probably because I'm related to Tom Riddle..._ thought Tom, crossly. But he knew that was untrue. As a matter of fact, everyone seemed to _like_ Riddle. Tom, on the other hand, had not mastered Tom Riddle's ease of charisma, and found himself alone more often than not.

_"A quiet boy..." he recalled one of his professors saying, overhearing their conversation outside breakfast one morning as he had exited the Great Hall, "keeps to himself."_

_"He's unfortunately stuck in his brother's shadow," replied the other, "Mr. Riddle's exceptional studies have placed him above and beyond the level expected for a first-year student. Even if Mr. Potter's abilities rival his own, there is a clear-cut victor when it comes to spellwork."_

_"Might I add that Mr. Riddle cast a full-fledged Impervius spell? I do believe that is not covered until the third year..."_

Tom scowled at the memory. If Riddle ever caught wind that professors were calling him exceptional, he would never come off that high pedestal he had put himself on.

 _Speaking of which..._ he scanned once more, feeling frustrated. _If he doesn't show up soon, I'm leaving him._

"Are you done wandering around, Potter?" a voice breathed into his ear, and Tom jumped in the air, startled.

"Wha-what the, where did you come from?" he squawked. Riddle snorted.

"I've been standing over at the wall for the last ten minutes, watching you bumble around the platform. I got tired after you nearly tripped that fifth year Hufflepuff student."

_Gee, thanks for nothing._

The two then exited the platform together, going through the enchanted brick wall that led into the Muggle world. They were effortlessly transported into the throng of masses that was King's Cross station. Hoisting their bags over their shoulders, they walked to the entrance of the station, where Tom then turned to Riddle.

"So, we're taking a cab, just so you are aware."

Riddle stared, his bag slightly dropping off his shoulder. "What? Your guardian isn't picking you up?"

"No. He told me right before we left Godric's Hollow that I'd transport myself to and from home each time."

"Why? He's a wizard, he can just Apparate us there?"

"He said it's because I needed to understand how Muggle transport works." _Also, he's a bit of a recluse._

"Some wizard he is." scoffed Riddle.

"You have no idea." said Tom.

 

Tom swallowed nervously, as the cab pulled away from the outskirts of Godric's Hollow.

 _Well, here goes nothing._ He looked over to Tom Riddle, who looked unruffled as always. The two walked the few blocks from the outlying area of his neighbourhood until they had reached 13 Lavenham place.

"So this is where you live." Riddle said, scanning the two storey house. In the late afternoon, it looked fairly inviting- with large elm trees around the front and back, it had the quaint look of the countryside about it.

"Like it?" asked Tom, wanting to make small talk. He was growing more and more nervous at bringing Riddle here. _Suppose he had been wrong, and his guardian hadn't responded because he'd been angry?_

"It's pretty ordinary for a wizard's home." said Riddle. His grey eyes looked up to the second floor and narrowed.

"What, were you expecting something more?" Tom said, confused.

"Never mind." said Riddle after a brief pause, relaxing his face. "It makes sense. To keep out Muggles."

"I see..." said Tom, not really seeing. But he looked at the house one more time. "It's a lot more interesting inside."

"Hm." commented Riddle. 

A moment of silence broke out, and Tom shifted from his left foot onto his right foot. Riddle spoke up after a few minutes, "Well, are we going to stand out here all day or are we going to go in?"

Tom realized he had been stalling on the sidewalk. "Right...." he walked up, then ascended the steps. His eyes focused on the _13 Lavenham Place_ embossed on the door in bronze letters.

"Just in case." Tom took in a breath. He looked down at Tom Riddle, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. At the boy's arched eyebrow, he said, "Just in case my guardian...well, he's not really big on hosting-"

"Like I told you," Riddle said coldly. "I'm just here to meet him. I'm not here to stay."

 _He'll leave._ Tom let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Right, well, come on in." He opened the door.

The entranceway was empty, but Tom wasn't surprised. His guardian didn't strike him as a door-greeter type. He closed the door behind them, locking it as well.

"He must be somewhere in the house... uh..." he said, looking at Tom Riddle's expectant face. He turned away to take a hesitant step further in. "Mr. Potter?" he tested out, weakly. He dropped his bag in the hallway closet.

"You call him Mr. Potter." said Riddle from behind him. He likewise deposited his bag next to Tom's.

"No..." Tom blushed. "I don't really call him anything."

Riddle didn't have anything to say about that. He was instead inspecting a silver vase that was displayed on a tall table adjacent to the entrance way. His eyes flashed with interest.

"Where's this from?" he asked, extending a pale finger out to tap the top.

"Oh I don't know, we've always had that." said Tom. "It's just a vase."

"Just a vase made of silver. It looks like an urn." Riddle said, abruptly.

"An urn? I guess it is." said Tom distractedly, walking further into the house. "Hullo...anybody home?"

Riddle tapped the urn one more time, then left it alone, following after Tom.

The boys entered in the kitchen area, but it was empty. In fact, a small layer of dust was on the table. The dishes were neatly stacked and the cups hung, and the sink looked immaculate. The only sign of life was the fireplace, which still had old coals resting at the bottom of its maw.

"I guess he's not big on cooking?" said Riddle, running a long finger through the dust on the table, scrutinizing it between his thumb and forefinger.

"Only for me." He'd asked once what his guardian ate, but his guardian had never clarified.

"So, should we go to the second floor, then?" Tom asked. Riddle was looking at the weathered door that led from the kitchen to the garden

"If you think that's where he is." said Riddle, an unconvinced look on his face.

The two went back out to the hallway, to ascend the large staircase. Riddle hesitated for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, casting a look back to the silver urn in the entrance way as Tom made his way up the staircase.

"You coming?" said Tom, from the top of the stairs. Riddle's grey eyes flicked back up towards Tom, and he gave a silent nod, trudging up the stairs after the boy.

Perhaps he should have looked further up the entrance way, up towards where the ceiling met the deep mahogany door. If he had, he might have noticed the dark, bodiless shadow coiled above the entryway, watching him with neon green eyes.

But as such, he did not, and soon the shadow slithered down the wall, vanishing.

 

"It's getting late." said Tom, for the fourth time that evening.

"I'm aware." said Riddle, irritated.

They were back in the kitchen. After having spent the afternoon trying to find Tom's guardian, they had delved to spending the remainder of their time on an impromptu tour of the house.

Aside from some books that caught Riddle's interest, (and the stupid urn) there wasn't much for them to look at. The portraits were unenchanted and boring, and the radio was apparently broken.

They had opted to exploring the garden a bit, where Tom had showed off his small collection of flowers. It had flourished, surprisingly, in his absence. As the snow was late this year, they were still present in the yard, which surprised Tom.

"They are hardy plants." Riddle said. Tom had lifted a curious eyebrow at him.

"You know about Chrysanthemums?" asked Tom, surprised. This did not seem like a topic the other boy would deign to care about.

"I read." he said. But Tom had prodded, and finally he said, exasperated, "They give us books at the Orphanage. Don't read too much into it, Potter."

After that they then had a debate about whether or not knowledge of Muggle plants was relevant to wizardry- " _I mean, your wands made of Yew, it's practically the epitome of a Muggle plant, you see it in everybody's yards." "Holly's not much better- it's only a Yule bush, the epitome of Muggles re-purposing a wizarding holiday_." They then realized the stupidity of their debate, and both had laughed, which was the first time either had derived some enjoyment of their own presence.

As it was winter, the sun set earlier, and the two made their way indoors as the first shadows began to creep on them.

Tom had brewed some tea he found in the kitchen, and had served them both, placing out some biscuits he found in a cupboard. Riddle's cup remained untouched. Instead, he was focused on the clock that hung above the sink, as if willing it to slow. It read three quarters past eight. They sat this way for ten minutes or so, the only noise of Tom's teacup tapping the wooden table as he set it down.

"I don't think he's coming tonight," said Tom, breaking the silence. Riddle didn't even bat an eye.

"He knew when you would come back from Hogwarts, right?"

"Yeah..." Tom felt a little disappointed, as the reality of Riddle's words sunk in. He grabbed a biscuit, nibbling it in restraint. "I guess he forgot."

"Hm." acknowledged Riddle. Tom shifted in his seat, feeling awkward for what he had to say. "So, I don't think there are any cabs that run this late around here...."

Riddle frowned. "This late? It's not even nine."

"Well this isn't London, things kinda shut down here 'round five."

Apparently Tom Riddle had not known this, because his face turned sour. Tom raised his hands, defensively.

"Look, you are welcome to spend the night, my guardian's not even here, so it's not like he would mind."

"I don't want to spend the night here." Riddle bit out. At Tom's raised eyebrow, he crossed his arms. Tom was having none of it. "What's the big deal? You've never had a sleepover before, have you?"

"Neither have you, if your stories are at all true." pointed out Riddle.

Tom gave him a flabbergasted look. “You came all this way from London, and you still don't believe me?"

"I didn't say I didn't believe you," Riddle said, coolly. "I just find it hard to believe you never socialized with anyone your whole life."

"Well, I probably did when I was a toddler, but I don't remember that!"

"Speaking of which- " Riddle grabbed a biscuit, breaking it half and dipping it in his tea. "You never told where you were adopted from."

A name tugged at the back of Tom's mind, but the moment was gone as soon as it had begun. "I think it started with a W?" he said, scratching the back of his head.

"You can't mean Wool's, can you?" said Riddle, looking surprised.

"What would the chances be of that?"

"Pretty good, considering I don't know any other orphanages with W names," said Riddle.

"I'm not even sure it starts with a W, I probably just picked that up from when I heard it from you." said Tom.

"Maybe," said Riddle, looking thoughtful. He bit into his biscuit, as the clocked chimed. Tom looked up. Nine o'clock.

"Well, shall I show you to the rooms?"

Riddle twitched, immediately looking uncomfortable.

 _I don't think he likes having to rely on anyone._ mused Tom. Feeling a little more sympathetic towards him, he grabbed the package of biscuits.

"Come on. My guardian always fusses if I bring food upstairs. Let's take advantage of this golden opportunity."

Riddle took the teacups away, pouring the leftovers in the sink. Tom went out to the hallway and grabbed their bags from near the entrance. At Riddle's bag, he groaned.

"What did you do, bring half your school supplies, and cauldron too?"

"Books, Potter." said Riddle, poking his head out from his kitchen.

"Yeah I figured as much. I enjoy reading as much as you do, but don't you think this is...well, a bit much?"

"It's more interesting than reading books about your stupid Chrysanthemums, that's for sure."

Tom threw the package of biscuits at Riddle's head. Riddle snapped a hand up, catching the biscuits effortlessly. A smirk was on his face, as he waved the package tauntingly.

"I guess I'm going to enjoy every last biscuit. In your bed. I'll be sure to leave lots of crumbs."

"Who says you're sleeping in _my_ room?" teased Tom.

 

Riddle had wanted to use the guest room anyway, but Tom got to break the bad news as the clambered up the steps.

"There's only two rooms now," he informed him. "The third room won't be put in... until later." He scrunched his face. "Sometime in the forties, my guardian said."

"Ah. And the other room is for...?" Riddle looked at said room, which was shut.

"My guardian's." They had knocked on it earlier, just to be sure he hadn't been napping in there or hiding out, but no sounds had emitted from behind the black door.

"What's in there?"

"Not much." Tom shrugged. "More books." At seeing Riddle's hesitant look, he hoisted his own bag higher on his shoulder, "Lucky for us, there's two beds in my room."

"Ah." Riddle relaxed, ever so slightly. "Why's that?"

"Well, occasionally I get nightmares. My guardian will come sit with me, sometimes. But that hasn't happened since..." Tom twitched, feeling uncomfortable.

"Nightmares? About what?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Tom pushed the green door open. A simple room greeted them, with two tan-coloured beds across the way from each other, sheets neatly folded on top them.

Riddle walked past him, throwing his bag unceremoniously at the foot of the opposing bed. He stared at it, unsure.

Tom jumped on his own bed, kicking his feet up. He sighed, staring at the upwards as he lay on his back. The ceiling had a colour poster on it. Riddle's gaze followed his own up to it, in interest. "They can make posters like these?" he said.

"Not for another sixty years." chuckled Tom, feeling more relaxed. The room was quite warm, despite the cool outside air of December.

"Who are the Rolling Stones?" commented Riddle, reading the inscription.

"Just a band." yawned Tom, his eyes beginning to shut. "They'll be popular...later." I _should probably change into my nightclothes._

"Are there any other musicians worth noting from the future?"

"If I tell you that..." Tom muttered sleepily. "You ...might change... decades of...lineups..."

Riddle sat down on the bed, watching as Potter began to snore. His grey eyes wandered over to the door.

_Finally._

He silently crept out of the room, staring out into the blackness of the night as he pulled the bedroom door slowly behind him.

The house had a definite creepy vibe to it in the evening hours. The shadows cast strange shapes on the walls, and while Riddle wasn't afraid, he felt consciously more aware of his surroundings. He quieted his breathing, listening to the creak and groan of the house in the wind.

He approached the opposing locked bedroom, footsteps muffled with his cautious steps. As he lingered in front of the black door, he tested the doorknob. It was locked. He then withdrew a tarnished lock pick from his trousers.

"Let's see what Potter's got hidden in here..."  He began to pick at the lock. After a few jerks, the lock clicked, but it did not budge open.

"Come on..." Riddle bit the inside of cheek, wiggling the lock pick. He was usually quite proficient at this, having broken in and out of rooms at the orphanage on a fairly regularly basis. Still nothing. "Fine," he hissed, drawing out his wand, " _Alohomo_ -"

But suddenly, the door swung open, cutting Riddle off from his spell. The room appeared to be pitch black, revealing nothing.

"What the-?" Riddle turned behind him, suddenly expecting someone there. But it was only dark, a nearby elm tree casting warped shadows from its position by the window. He looked back in. It was too dark to make anything out clearly. Riddle tried the next spell that came to mind. " _Lumo-"_

The room suddenly lit.

Riddle's heart was pounding. If he didn't know better, he would have assumed he was in a silent horror film. "Who's there?" he said, sounding braver than he felt.

Nothing answered.

"I'll cast a spell if you don't show yourself." threatened Riddle. He raised his Yew wand. "I'm not afraid of you." He stepped into the room, grey eyes scanning back and forth as he held aloft his wand.

There was a simple bed, perfectly made in the centre of the room. _As a matter of fact,_ Riddle observed, _it looks untouched_. A half dozen books were scattered around, some opened, some unopened. He approached the bed, stepping around the strewn books. After a cursory look around the room, he pressed his finger into the mattress. It was stiff.

_Nobody's ever slept on here...._

The door suddenly slammed behind him. Riddle whirled at the noise, his wand whipping along with the motion.

"Are you Potter?" he snapped. Perhaps the boy was outside, having woken and gone to find the missing Tom Riddle. "Because if this is your idea of a joke, it is not funny."

No reply. The boy was probably stifling laughter behind the door. Riddle felt even angrier than before. "When I get my hands on you, Potter... " He seethed. "Trying to scare me? I'm not afraid of you or your stupid house!"

An invisible force suddenly slammed into his chest, and Tom Riddle was propelled backwards, falling onto the mattress. The wand went flying into the sea of books.

Suddenly, a man appeared above him, huge black wings outstretched. He gracefully dropped down from the ceiling, a foot pressing down into Tom Riddle's chest as he landed on top of him. Riddle was pinned on the bed.

Tom Riddle grabbed his hands around the foot as he was pinned, gasping out in shock as he met electric green eyes surrounded in a frame of obsidian.

"That is where you are wrong, Tom Marvolo Riddle." said the winged specter softly. "You should be _very_ afraid of me."

 

** Sources: **

_Hiccoughing Solution_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hiccoughing_Solution>

_Page 394_

<http://knowyourmeme.com/memes/turn-to-page-394>

_Protego Totalum_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Protego_totalum>

_Flipendo_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Knockback_Jinx> _

_Impervius_

_<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Impervius_Charm> _

_Yew_

_<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Taxus_baccata> _

_Holly_

_<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Holly> _

_Shadow on the Wall: Inspired by Hellsing (Anime and Manga)_

<https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcR2NUQFhcIqXv3TFNPM3do8WOo8f0Z8OwjiL9llr7l-pBxERMj0>

_Rolling Stones Poster_

<https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/4b/33/1f/4b331ff0adbdb49da284409ab42276c2.jpg>

_Harry pins Tom Riddle: Gabriel pins Constantine, Constantine (2005)_ :

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oi1r8B5INfU>

 


	3. Chapter 3

Tom Potter woke up, feeling a crick in his neck.

"Augh..." He had slept in his clothes. He felt embarrassed. _Must have been more tired than I thought._ He sat up in his bed, suddenly realizing-

"Tom?" he said out loud, looking over to the other bed. It was unmade, only the indentation of where he had sat indicating someone had occupied it all. _What the-? Did he leave sometime in the night?_

He leapt off his own bed, assuming the worst. But he then stopped, seeing Riddle's things still at the foot of his bed.

_He left without his things?_

This was extremely unlikely. Tom Riddle treasured his books. He wouldn't leave without taking them with him, no matter how much noise it would have caused.

"He cares more about books than he does people... can't imagine why he'd up and leave _them_." Tom said aloud, for said individual's benefit. He expected a sarcastic comment to come out from the hallway. But there was silence.

"Where are you, Riddle?" he peered out of his room, stomach grumbling in hunger. The biscuits had disappeared under his bed, and he had no desire to go find them. _I'll have to go to the store later and get some food,_ he mused. He looked over to his guardian's door, where it was still bolted shut.

_Well, he's not in there._

"Riddle...?" he said as he made his way down the stairs. "Are you down here?"

Still silence. Tom walked up to the front door, opening it. Cloudy skies greeted him, along with a cold blast of air. _It'll snow later_ , thought Tom absentmindedly, as he shut the door behind him, locking it again. He then made his way over to the kitchen, to see if Riddle was there.

He was not. However, several plates and cutlery were missing, and the sink looked used, if someone had just done a round of washing. _Had Riddle run off with the dishes and the spoons?_

The door to the garden was slightly cracked open. Tom slowly made his way over, placing his hand on the bronze handle of the door. As he made to pull the door open, a firm hand suddenly gripped his shoulder. 

He shrieked, slamming the door shut.

"I am sorry." said his guardian's voice from behind him. "I did not mean to frighten you." Tom whirled to face him.

He was holding a brown bag under each of his arms. Upon Tom's inspection, they appeared to be bulging with food. Tom's stomach rumbled, tellingly.

His guardian was dressed in ordinary Muggle clothing, a period appropriate tan coat and slacks. Circular glasses were perched on his pale nose. No wings either. He even had on a scarlet scarf, which accented his throat.

"Uh... I don't supposed you saw my uh... _brother,_ around here, did you?" Tom asked, cautiously testing the waters, "because well, if you got my letter, you know, uh, I invited him over."

His guardian's eyes creased then, into a slight look of...annoyance?

"Ah yes. Tom Riddle." he said.

"So you did see him..?" said Tom. "Is he still in the house? Or did he take off?"

"Help me with the groceries." said his guardian. At Tom's scowl, he raised an eyebrow, warningly.

 _Fine._ He grabbed the bag on his left, grabbing out some rolls and jam for breakfast. After they had done packing everything else away, his guardian took out a bread knife, and grabbed the rolls.

"Bring the jam." he said and walked outside into the garden. Tom grabbed the jam and a small spoon and made his way out.

His guardian was placing the rolls out on a plate on a table in the centre of the garden. Three chairs were pulled up to the green table. One of them was occupied by Tom Riddle, who was sipping at a coffee cup.

"Tom!" exclaimed the approaching boy, "Where have you been?"

The other boy lowered his coffee cup and gave Tom a tired look. "Out here drinking coffee. Where did you think I went?"

 _He doesn't look like he slept a wink last night. Given the bed was unused...unless he tried sleeping on the floor._ He frowned. _But then what was he doing all night?_

His guardian sat down next to Riddle, who gave a slight flinch. He only waved out a pale hand, gesturing for his ward to sit. Tom did so, pouring himself a cup of coffee and emptying several packets of sugar into it. As he added a spot of cream to sweeten the blend, he reached over to grab a roll.

"Tom, where did you sleep last night?"

"Hm?" said Riddle.

"Your bed. It was untouched." replied Tom.

His guardian spoke up. "Mr. Riddle had difficulty sleeping last night." Riddle twitched. Tom wondered what that meant.

"He left the bedroom and decided to go exploring the house." his guardian continued, "I managed to encounter him in my room."

"Oh?" said Tom. "Well, did he sleep in there then?"

Riddle looked mortified. His guardian continued on, unruffled, "He did not sleep. I escorted him to the kitchen to sit for a while. He did not return to bed after that." He then sipped his coffee, looking at Riddle as he spoke, "I suppose you will require sleep this afternoon?"

Riddle shook his head. "No. As soon as I accomplish what I'm here for, Mr. Potter, I'm going to head to London."

“I see.” replied the elder man. “And what were you planning on accomplishing?”

"Potter- well, I mean Tom- says you are from the future." said Riddle. "Is that true?"

Tom expected his guardian to leap up and shout, ' _You said what!'_ at him or something like that. But instead, his guardian only flicked his eyes over to Riddle.

"And if it were true?" he said, spectacles meeting with grey.

"Tell me what you know." demanded Riddle.

The man's jade eyes half-lidded. "Tell me what you know?" he repeated.

"Or I'll-"

"Or you will what, Tom Marvolo Riddle?" Riddle fell silent.

"It does not serve your interest to tell anyone." the man said. "Furthermore, you have no one to confide in."

"Your middle name's Marvolo?" interrupted Tom.

 _"_ Yes Potter, but that's not important right now," Riddle bit out.

"No, it is not." Tom's guardian said, waving his hand out carelessly, “Very well, Mr. Riddle, I will entertain you. What do you want to know?"

Riddle pounced, "What are you?"

"What am I?" the man asked. The hand lowered. "I thought you wanted to know about the future?"

Riddle growled. "You threatened me last night, you and your great big wings. Where are they?" he demanded now, leaning forward in the chair. "Why do you look different?"

Tom gaped. His guardian had shown his true form? How much had he missed when he was sleeping!?

"An illusion, as I am sure you are aware. But I do not think that is why you are asking me that." replied Tom's guardian. Riddle only gripped a butter knife in his hand, fingers turning pale as the blood circulation cut off.

"Very well. I will show you." His guardian then stood up, shrugging the tan coat off. A quiet whooshing noise was heard, and suddenly the two midnight wings were aloft, arched in a half downwards crescent. The inky color of the feathers matched his hair, Tom idly observed.

The man's pale fingers then went to his glasses, and he tugged them away from his face. Immediately the green eyes went neon, and the sclera blackened. “Satisfied?" said his guardian. Riddle shook his head.

"What are you?"

The man sat down, his wings curling downwards until they wrapped the sides of the chair. "I am that I am."

Riddle seethed. "That's not an answer."

"You will take what I tell you. Or you do not find out anything. Your choice, Riddle."

Riddle then leaped out of his chair, brandishing the butter knife. Tom leaned back, terrified what was going to happen next. His guardian didn't flinch. Instead, he leaned forward, lifting his pale hand. The knife in Riddle's grip bent backwards.

"Try again." said his guardian, coldly. Riddle tossed the knife away. He clenched his fists, his face colouring. Tom shot nervous glances between Riddle and his guardian.

"Um..." he heard himself say. "Can we talk about how you.... um, know his name? Maybe about the connection we share?"

Both Riddle and his guardian were looking at him now. Riddle had a disgusted look on his face. His guardian however, nodded his acquiescence. "A reasonable question." He leaned back, taking his coffee cup in his pale hands.

 _Sit._ mouthed Tom at Riddle. The boy threw him a dark look, but then sat back down.

"I was familiar with a Tom Marvolo Riddle in my lifetime. He was a powerful wizard."

"Really?" said Riddle eagerly.

"Yes." his guardian paused. "One could say he did great things."

"Like what?"

"He pushed the boundaries of what magic could do." His guardian sipped at the cup in his hands, letting the steam waft in his pale face. 

"Did I...I mean he," said Riddle, "Have an important position? In the government?"

"You could say that."

"Like what, Minister for Magic?" said Tom, curious as well.

"If he had put his mind to it, I believe he could have been Minister. But that was not the path he chose." Now his guardian fixated at the wooden fence that bordered their garden, looking at something neither of them could see.

"What did he choose?" said Riddle.

Now his guardian's neon eyes were fixated on the boy. "You tell me. What are you going to do with your life, Tom Riddle?"

"It is a little early to be making that kind of decision at my age, Mr. Potter." Riddle said.

"A smart answer." his guardian observed. "The same goes to what I have to say about your future self. It is too early to find out what you will do, because it has not happened yet."

Riddle grumbled, going back to his coffee cup.

"To answer the second question, the connection you share..." his guardian replied. "It is by blood, of course. "

"Is that why you adopted me?" asked Tom, shyly, "Because of my blood?"

"It was more complicated than that. Like I told you before you left, I believe that you have the power that can change the future. Furthermore, I believe you will do it with Tom Riddle." Now he was looking at them both.

"Putting a stop to your so-called Dark Lord, right?" said Riddle. "What was his name?"

"His name is unimportant. What matters was the idea he represented. " Now the man was leaning forward, his great wings shadowing his face, "He wanted a world where Muggles were second-class to wizards, and only pure-bloods were allowed into the hierarchy of his society."

"And why is that a bad thing?" Riddle said. Tom stared at the other boy incredulously. "Wizards are obviously superior to Muggles in every way. Furthermore, our blood is diluted by theirs."

"I would not be so hasty to judge Muggles, Mr. Riddle. You may never know, even in old wizarding families, Muggle ancestors could be found."

"My family is pure-blood," Riddle stated authoritatively, crossing his arms over his chest, "They told us only pure-bloods get sorted into Slytherin."

"And who told you that?" stated the winged man, amused. Tom held up a hand, interrupting before Riddle found another knife to wield at his guardian.

"What about our parents?"

"Mm." said his guardian, taking another sip of coffee. "You wanted to know about your mother."

"Yes!"

"It is better if I showed you indoors. Finish your breakfast."

"What about mine?" Riddle interrupted, grey eyes briefly looking at his counterpart. “Not that I don't care about Potter's clearly Muggle mother."

"Who says my mum was a Muggle?" Tom said hotly.

"You weren't put in Slytherin." said Riddle obnoxiously.

"Well for your information, the hat did want to put me in Slytherin!"

"What, 'cause it said you would do great things in there?" scoffed Riddle.

His guardian choked on the coffee he was drinking. Both boys looked at him. "Don't..mind me," he wheezed. At their baffled look he scowled. "Eat your breakfast, and we will talk about it inside."

They left the garden just in time, as white snowflakes began to drift down into the flowerbed. _Knew it,_ thought Tom, as the three re-entered the kitchen.

Tom Riddle, surprisingly, helped Tom with cleaning the dishes. The two boys washed the plates, silverware, and cups, hanging them over the sink to dry.

Tom's guardian had left them, but he now returned from upstairs with a manila packet in his hand. He then set it on the kitchen, waiting until the two boys had finished.

"This is your birth record, Tom." His guardian stated, moving the packet towards him. "Open it."

Tom swallowed, and took the packet in his hands, gingerly inspecting it. It was sealed and did not have the appearance of having been opened for quite some time. His eyes looked at the top of the manila packet, which in small lettering was printed the numbers 1:9 2:7. The boy looked to the opening of the pocket, which was pressed with a red seal.

He broke the seal, gently removing the white paper from within. Riddle leaned over his shoulder, curiously inspecting the sheet. Tom ignored him.

It read:

_Queen Charlotte's and Chelsea Hospital, London, England, United Kingdom_

BIRTH

Administrative area: Greater London

CHILD

Date and place of birth: First January, Queen Charlotte's and Chelsea Hospital  

Name and surname: Tom Potter

Sex: Male

FATHER

Name: Tom Riddle

Place of Birth: Unlisted

Occupation: Unlisted

MOTHER

Name: Jane Doe

Place of Birth: Unlisted

Occupation: Unlisted

USED ADDRESS: (if different from place of birth)

 

The last block had been left blank. But Tom's eyes flicked up from the parchment to his guardian’s. “Her name was Jane Doe?" he said quietly.

Riddle harrumphed behind him. "Don't tell you don't know what _that_ means." At the silence, the boy unhelpfully added "It means they don't know her name."

“Why didn’t she give her name?” Tom said despondently. “Didn’t she want me?”

Harry paused, but then his shoulders slumped. “Tom... she died.”

Tom let the parchment fall to the table, staring at the printed words. "How did she die? Was it because of me?"

"A fall." the man said, "Not you."

"She fell to her death." Tom said numbly. An ugly feeling was making its way into his chest. "Does that mean she killed herself? Is that why she doesn't have a name?"

"I am sorry, Tom." his guardian said.

Riddle once again interrupted. "Says you were born on January first."

"So." said Tom lifelessly.

"I was born December thirty-first," the boy said primly. "Your birthday's one day after mine."

"Oh."

"Also..." the boy's grey eyes narrowed, staring at the parchment once again. "It says Tom _Potter._ " Riddle stared the man now. "Wouldn't it say Riddle?"

 Tom slowly looked up to his guardian.

"It was added afterwards," the man replied, "The original document did not have a name."

Tom slid the parchment back into its document holder.

"Well, now that's established." said Tom Riddle. "Tell us about my father." He had that greedy look in his eye.

"Your father?" His guardian's black eyebrows furrowed as he leaned on the table, placing his chin on top of his folded hands, holding himself up by the elbows. "In what regard?"

"Well, what kind of wizard was he?"

"You think he was a wizard?" said the man.

"He must have, because both me and Potter are. Who else would we have gotten our magical abilities from?"

"Did it ever cross your mind you might be Muggleborn?" Tom's guardian said sarcastically. Riddle blanched.

"Only pure-bloods are put in Slytherin-"

"So I heard." the man rolled his electric green and black eyes. "But you will have to find out about Tom Riddle on your own." Riddle growled in displeasure, his grey eyes flashing dangerously.

"But I will give you a clue," Tom's guardian then said, green-black eyes becoming half-lidded as he next spoke, "Marvolo."

"Marvolo?" repeated Riddle dumbly.

"Yes. Your middle name will connect you with your heritage, Tom Riddle."

"And mine?" asked Tom quietly.

Now his guardian closed his eyes, then flicked them open, neon eyes gleaming with an indecipherable emotion. "You will learn something about yourself as well."

 

Riddle was standing on the steps of the large home, large bag slung over his shoulder.

"Now you're sure you don't want to stay?" said Tom. Riddle scowled.

"Yes Potter." The boy cast a look over his shoulder, even as Tom pushed, "Even after all you've learned about us?"

"Your guardian isn't going to tell us anything." Riddle said.

"He gave us a clue." argued Tom, wondering why he was even defending the man.

"Yeah, _Marvolo._ What a shocking reveal." Riddle said sarcastically.

"Look, he didn't say you couldn't stay, so why don't you-"

"Shove off, Potter!" snapped Riddle. "I'm not playing happy family with you. "

Tom stared at his feet, willing himself not to show Riddle his face. "Fine." he said coldly. "I don't even know why I bothered. Enjoy the orphanage, _Riddle_."

"Tch." said the other boy. "I'll see you at Hogwarts. Potter." he added after moment's pause.

"Yeah." He heard the other boy's footsteps trod off, and only after he was sure he was gone, did he look back up. Something was tugging at the corner of his eye, but Tom only wiped his face with his palm, closing the door behind him.

"Is he gone?" said his guardian's voice as he re-entered the home. He was standing at the top of the stairs, towards the side, leaning forward so that his forearms draped over the railing. His wings were loosely held behind him.

"Yes." Tom sighed.

"I see." said his guardian, shifting his shoulders to allow the great wings to expand. The man then tilted his head to the side, looking curious. "You are upset."

"No, I'm glad he's gone." Tom said, a little too quickly.

"He is a hard person to understand." his guardian said.

"What's so hard. He's a jerk." Tom replied.

His guardian only paused at that. "People can be shaped by their environment. Riddle is no exception. He is a product of his circumstances, and so, acts accordingly"

This was incredibly wise, coming from his guardian. Tom stared at him, incredulously. "Who told you that?"

"A girl much smarter than me." He then drew his arms off the railing, pulling himself upwards and silently made his way out of Tom's field of view into his own room.

 

The holiday soon passed, and Tom Potter found himself once again at Hogwarts. He was sitting in the Gyffindor common room, by the fire. He had a copy of his Potions book strewn out on the desk in front of him, with small notes scribbled on the sides. He felt himself drifting off.

"Hard work?" said a sixth-year student, entering the room from the painting outside the dormitory. Tom nodded blearily, sitting further upright to keep himself awake.

The sixth-year whistled sympathetically. "Yeah, I'm luckily not taking Potions anymore. I got a P on my O.W.L.s, or I'd help you."

"I prefer spells anyway." said Tom. "Easier for me."

"Yeah I figured. Heard about your brother's spellwork from my Professor. "

_You have got to be kidding me..._

"He's quite famous, isn't he." said Tom, sourly.

The sixth-year chuckled. "I know the feeling. My older sister was a Ravenclaw. She aced all her O.W.L.s when I was a first year. I got to hear about it every day until she graduated."

"Is that what made it stop?" said Tom wryly.

"Nah. I got to hear all about how she aced her N.E.W.T.s at graduation." The sixth-year tapped the back of Tom's chair, making his way up to the boy's dormitory.

Tom felt a small smile tug at his face, as he turned back to the book. Despite him still being friendless, he never felt excluded in Gryffindor. _Speaking of exclusion._

Tom hadn't spoken to Tom Riddle since he left him in Godric's Hollow. Sure, he had seen him in classes, but Tom had only given the curtest of greetings, preferring to ignore him. The other boy hadn't even cared. At least, he hadn't bothered Tom since they had both come back to Hogwarts.

Tom sighed, closing the Potions book.

"People can be shaped by their environment. ..." he said to himself, reflecting on his guardian's words. Perhaps he should give Riddle another chance, if they were supposed to work together to save the world, so to say. The least Tom could do was give him the benefit of a doubt.

_Otherwise, I could tell Riddle to figure out a way to conjure himself so he doesn't look like me._

Snorting at that thought, he picked up his book, making his way up the staircase to the boy's dormitory.

 

He found Tom Riddle in the Hogwarts library. He had several books laid out on the desk and was pouring over them vigorously. So much so that he didn't even notice Tom Potter standing behind him.

Tom decided to make his presence known by audibly clearing his throat, "Ah-hem!" Riddle jumped up in his seat, startled. The chair went crashing to the floor, the noise ringing though the library.

The Hogwarts librarian, a brown woman with amber eyes, gave the boys the meanest glare from behind her desk.

"Uh...sorry." said Tom.

Riddle scowled at him, drawing his chair up. "What do you want?" he demanded, "I thought you weren't speaking to me?"

"What? When did I say that?" said Tom, crossing his arms as he sat himself down opposite of Tom Riddle. The other boy snorted.

"Don't play dumb." Riddle said, re-seating himself. "You've been ignoring me."

"Why do you care?" asked Tom, confused.

Riddle huffed at that. "What makes you think that Potter?" 

He then turned his gaze back to one of the many books he had lying about him. He began to scribble something in a pile of notes he had next to him with his quill.

Tom rolled his eyes, picking up one of the many tomes. Most of them looked extremely old. He blew a layer of dust off the binding, inspecting the book's title.

" _The Book of Enoch_?" he read. "What's it about?"

Riddle ignored him. Tom flipped the book open, eyes scanning a passage that had been tabbed:

_These are the names of the angels who watch._

_Uriel, one of the holy angels, who presides over clamor and terror._

_Raphael, one of the holy angels, who presides over the spirits of men._

_Raguel, one of the holy angels, who inflicts punishment on the world and the luminaries._

_Michael, one of the holy angels, who, presiding over human virtue, commands the nations._

_Sarakiel, one of the holy angels, who presides over the spirits of the children of men that transgress._

_Gabriel, one of the holy angels, who presides over Ikisat, over paradise, and over the cherubim._

 

 _What is this?_ thought Tom. He thumbed the book, finding another tabbed passage.

_2And now to the Watchers, who have sent you to pray for them, who in the beginning were in heaven,_

_3Say, In heaven have you been; secret things, however, have not been manifested to you; yet have you known a reprobated mystery._

A note had been taped under the passage, and Tom pulled it out.

 

Watcher:

Watcher (Aramaic עִיר ʿiyr, plural עִירִין ʿiyrin, [ʕiːr(iːn)]; Theodotian trans: ir; from the root of Heb. ʿer, "awake, watchful"; Greek: ἐγρήγοροι, transl.: egrḗgoroi; Slav transliteration, Grigori,"Watchers", "those who are awake"; "guard", "watcher") is a term used in connection with biblical angels.

"Guard." he read out loud. It suddenly dawned him. "Like _guardian_." He lifted his wide eyes to Riddle. "You're reading books about him!"

A hissing noise came from behind the librarian's desk. Tom paled, and shrunk himself into his seat, trying to make himself appear smaller. Tense minutes seconds passed, but the librarian thankfully did not come over.

"Yes, Potter." Riddle said, snatching the paper out of his hand. He then carefully tucked it under the papers he had been scribbling on. "Don't mess up my notes."

"I thought you were going to research about Marvolo?"

"I'm getting there." Riddle nodded to another book. Tom picked it up, " _The Pure-blood directory_?" he read out loud.

"Yes. A compendium of the pure-blood wizarding families." Riddle looked pleased. "Open it, Potter."

Tom did so, removing the green bookmark that held open a page that read:

'HOUSE OF GAUNT.'

"Gaunt?" he repeated.

"Yes," said Riddle, eyes gleaming with knowledge. "Keep reading."

_The Gaunts, a very ancient wizarding family whose pureblood members include Gormlaith Gaunt, Rionach Gaunt, Corvinus Gaunt, Marvolo Gaunt, Morfin Gaunt, and Merope Gaunt._

_They are noted for being direct descendants of Salazar Slytherin, one of the original founders of Hogwarts._

"You're descended from Salazar Slytherin!?" exclaimed Tom.

This was too much for the librarian. She paced over to the two boys, grabbing them both by the ears and physically dragged them out of the library.

 

"She has a strong pinch." commented Tom, rubbing his ear. Riddle only brushed himself off, inspecting his black and green robes to ensure they were spotless. They were standing outside the library, where the woman had slammed the door shut behind them.

"So, did you find anything out about Tom Riddle?"

Riddle shook his head. "I did not see his name in any of my research. Nor have I seen his name on any special services to the school." He began to walk, and Tom hastened to keep astride with him.

"But you said he was a pure-blood? So, wouldn't he be in that book, _The Pure Blood Directory?_ "

"That's what doesn't make sense." replied Riddle, as they turned the corner of the several hallways, until they found themselves in the passage leading to the entrance of the dungeons.

 _Uh-oh. I can't go down there_. thought Tom.

Riddle stared at him for a moment. "That's the Slytherin dormitory." Tom said. Riddle's eyebrow upturned. "I can't go down there." he clarified.

Riddle's eyes narrowed. "I'm the heir of Slytherin. I'm sure I can make an exception for you."

 _Is he trying to be nice to me?_ thought Tom, mystified. “Thanks...I think?" he said. "But I'm not going in there."

"Suit yourself." the boy then turned to go down. He took a step forward, then paused, seeming to come to a decision about something. Riddle then shrugged his shoulder, letting his bag drop to the ground. Tom watched him kneel down, digging into the satchel. He drew forth another book...and proceeded to rip out a page.

"Are you kidding me?" Tom was horrified. "She'll kill you!"

"It's not a book from here." Riddle said, irritated. "Take it, Potter."

Tom took the page in his hand. "What's it about?" he said, only glimpsing the top page inscription in tiny letters, ' _Greek mythology.'_

"Read it and find out." he said cryptically. Tom looked at him, eyebrows raised in unspoken question. "I'll keep trying to find out about our father, in the meantime," Riddle added at Tom's bewildered look, "But I don't think your guardian is as clever as he thinks he is."

He left Tom standing in the hallway, descending down to the dungeons. Tom unfolded the sheet from his hand, eyes reading the first passage, which had a sentence highlighted.

_Hear me, O Death, whose empire unconfin'd_

_extends to mortal tribes of ev'ry kind._

_On thee, the portion of our time depends,_

_whose absence lengthens life, whose presence ends._

Tom turned the page over. There was the depiction of a statue of a man. With _wings._

 

** Sources: **

_"You threatened me last night, you and your great big wings. " Inspired by Maleficent (2014)_

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHSF-vVwk54&t=1m50s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHSF-vVwk54&t=1m50s)

_I am that I am:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Am_that_I_Am>

_"What, 'cause it said you would do great things in there?"_

<https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/126283-hmm-said-a-small-voice-in-his-ear-difficult-very>

_Queen Charlotte's and Chelsea Hospital, London, England, United Kingdom_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Queen_Charlotte's_and_Chelsea_Hospital>

_“A girl much smarter than me.”_

https://www.pottermore.com/explore-the-story/hermione-granger

_The Book of Enoch:_

<http://book-ofenoch.com/chapter-20/>

_Watchers:_

<http://reluctant-messenger.com/1enoch01-60.htm>

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Watcher_(angel)>

_Pure Blood Directory:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Pure-Blood_Directory>

_House of Gaunt:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/House_of_Gaunt>

_Hear me, O Death:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Thanatos>


	4. Chapter 4

 "So, you think he's some sort of death god?"

"Who says he's a god?" replied Riddle loftily. The pair were walking side by side alongside the great lake of Hogwarts, enjoying the first Sunday afternoon in months that was not dark and cloudy.

Tom picked up a smooth stone he found and skipped it across the lake. It disturbed something in there, for soon the stone came flying back, smacking him in between the eyebrows.

"Ouch!" he stammered, slapping a hand to his face. Riddle chuckled. "Potter, don't piss off the merfolk."

He grumbled. "Right. I'll be sure not to touch any rocks ever again." Tom waved at the water, picking up his voice, "Hear that, you mermaid? I'll never touch a rock again."

A larger rock came sailing out, smacking Tom in the knee.

"A _merman_ ," howled Riddle with laughter as Tom bent down to rub his knee. A loud splash indicated said creature had taken off.

"Touchy thing." Tom muttered, raising himself up. He looked into Riddle's eyes, tilting his head slightly. "But about my guardian... that article you gave me, you think it is what he is?"

Now Riddle was looking up the lake, at the great castle of Hogwarts. His long fingers were shoved into his pocket as he observed the tall, spiraling structure. "He could be a lot of things." Riddle finally admitted. "But we know he can travel through time," he ticked off his fingers, "he has black wings, which in certain cultures, is associated with death..." He looked at Tom then. "Do you know if he's ever killed anybody?"

Tom's face did the talking for him. "What kind of question is that?"

"A good one," said Riddle, bluntly. "Now he can't be Death itself, or we wouldn't see him. He would be too busy offing people to have time for you. "

Tom raised an eyebrow. " He'd be busier than you make him out to be." said Riddle, clarifying.

"So, would that make him a representative of death?"

"I believe the correct term is avatar, " Riddle recited, "A concept meaning 'descent', referring to the appearance or incarnation of a deity on earth."

"You are a living breathing encyclopedia."

The two boys climbed up the hill towards Hogwarts. They could see the Quidditch pitch teeming with the practice of the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. "One more game." commented Tom. "Hufflepuff versus Slytherin. Who do you think will win?" he added.

"I don't care." said Riddle.

Tom observed a Hufflepuff beater smacking a Bludger away. "I put my sickles on Hufflepuff. I heard they have a mean defense."

"They can defend all they like, the Slytherin offense will flatten them."

"Hah! You do care!"

"No, it's just Slytherin's the superior house. We deserve to win."

"It's just because you are related to Salazar Slytherin-"

Riddle then grabbed his shoulder, cutting him off, "About that, Potter."

"Uh, yeah?" Tom eyed Riddle's long fingers digging into his upper arm, which had the effect of reminding him of their very first encounter. He swallowed. "What?"

"Don't tell anyone."

"Who am I going to tell?" Tom said, exasperatedly. "You know I don't have any friends!"

"You don't?" said Riddle. He let go of Tom's arm, standing back and observing him with genuine confusion. _He thinks I have friends...?_

 _"_ I'm working on it," said Tom, stiffly. "Speaking of which, where are yours? The ones you are always hanging out with lately."

"They are not my friends," Riddle replied, "They are my associates."

"Don't let them hear you say that," Tom said, "Or they really won't be your friends."

Riddle scoffed. "A lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of the sheep."

"A Gryffindor allegory? How far the mighty have sunk."

"That's a big word for you Potter, you studying a dictionary more than your Potions book?"

Tom sighed, running a hand through his dark locks. It was hard to tell if Riddle was ribbing or bullying him. Tom had gotten so used to the other boy that he could no longer distinguish if he was genuinely teasing or tormenting him.

He decided to change the subject. "So summer's coming up. What are your plans?" he cast a curious look to Riddle. "Going back to the Orphanage?"

A sour look was on the other boy's face. "I have nowhere else to go."

"That's not true." said Tom. "Besides, don't you want to confront my guardian?" Riddle looked like he was struggling to come to an internal decision, so Tom pushed on, "Think about it. You can have your revenge on him for scaring the daylights out of you."

"How do you know he did that?" demanded Riddle.

"Just a hunch. And you _were_ scared. The heir of Slytherin, shaking in his boots, now that's a sight I would pay to see."

"I was not!" Riddle hotly denied. Tom only tutted at that.

"Was too!"

The two boys chased each other around the Quidditch pitch, only stopping when a bludger nearly took Tom's head off.

 

The semester ended, and the two boys found themselves at Platform 9 3/4 again, together.

Riddle had written the Orphanage to tell them he would be staying at Tom's for the summer. Tom was still amazed the other boy had decided to come at all.

_He must really want to stick it to my guardian..._

Tom had penned the man to let him know that Riddle was coming. The reply he got back was brief. _Remind Mr. Riddle he is not to perform magic outside the school. I will see you both in Godric's Hollow._

"He must like you." said Tom, as they boarded a cab. "I rarely see him interact with anyone that isn't me."

"He likes you," said Riddle, blunt as ever. "If there's any reason he tolerates me, it is because I am related to you."

Tom felt a small squeeze of happiness at that. It wasn't false that he constantly sought his guardian's approval and having someone else confirm that his feelings were reciprocated was gratifying. He then eyed Riddle's bag, slung over his shoulder.

"More books, I see?" Tom said, pointed to Riddle's bag.

"Yes." Riddle shifted the bag to lay on his lap, fishing a book out and waving it at Tom to see.

"I hope the librarian knows you're taking her things out for the summer."

"If she notices the enchanted Muggle books that replaced them." Riddle smirked. He set the book back into his bag.

The two sat by the windows of the cab, watching the city of London pull out from their taxi window. Two hours quickly passed by, and Tom woke from his doze to find Riddle shaking him. "We are here."

The boys clambered out, and Tom paid the cab driver. The cab drove off, leaving the two boys standing near the graveyard of Godric's Hollow. "The graveyard," Tom mused, reflecting on something. "Let's stop before we go to the house."

"Why?" asked Riddle.

"I want to look at something." Riddle shrugged his bag over his shoulder, following Tom into the cemetery. They spent fifteen minutes combing the graveyard. "Potter...Potter..."muttered Tom.

"Is there reason for this?" said Riddle, kicking away an old newspaper that had flown into his foot, headline declaring, " _Spain Leaves the League of Nations_."

"When we were last in our time, my guardian was here. He was on a grave. It said Potter on it."

"Well obviously they aren't here anymore." Riddle picked his bag up, where he had slung it next to a tombstone labeled 'Ignotus Peverell'. "Let's leave."

"What's the rush?" said Tom, feeling annoyed at himself that he hadn't paid closer attention to the Potter grave. He felt he was missing something important but could not put his finger on it.

"I don't like it in here." snapped Riddle. Tom then observed the other boy, who was shifting back on his feet, almost...nervously? "Are you scared?" he asked incredulously.

"Don't be daft, Potter. Who wants to spend an afternoon hanging out with a bunch of dead people?"

"My guardian does. He used to sit in here all the time."

"Well he's weird. Like you, if we keep hanging out in here looking for people that are not even dead yet."

"Not even dead yet..." Tom trailed. It hit him. "1981. The graves said October 1981 on them." Tom slung his bag over his shoulder, and the two boys walked to the entrance of the graveyard. Riddle looked up at the cemetery sign, then back at Tom.

"And remind me, what year did you leave?" said the grey-eyed boy.

"It was either 2003 or 2004," said Tom, locking the gate behind him. "I'm not exactly sure."

"So let's see..." Riddle said, ticking off his fingers as they walked. "The Dark Lord murdered his parents when he was an infant. We'll say he was between one and two when it happened. "

"Right," said Tom, walking alongside Riddle. They passed a cul-de-sac, where a house was being built. "You left in 2003-"

"Or '04-"

"We'll go with the lesser number," said Riddle dismissively. "That puts your guardian somewhere in his early twenties?"

"I suppose that does." Tom wasn't sure though. He always pictured someone in their twenties looking... _older._

They reached the front porch of 13 Lavenham place. There was a new gate in front of the yard. _Someone's been redecorating...._ Tom pulled the small door open, letting himself and Riddle inside the yard.

A couple of milk bottles were stacked outside the front door, along with a newspaper. Tom looked it over, seeing the pictures on the move. "The Daily Prophet." he read out loud.

"Yeah, it's the wizarding paper." Riddle said. "Slughorn lets me read his copies in the Slytherin dormitory."

"You all are quite chummy over there in Slytherin, aren't you?" mused Tom. He was reading the headlines.

"Success breeds jealously. “quipped Riddle.

" _Ministry of Magic warns of impending conflict in Europe_?" read Tom.

"Yes, I have been tracking that for a while." said Riddle, leaning over Tom's shoulder. He gave a dismissive look. "They are talking about the Muggles, but not the real problem that's coming."

"What's that?" Tom opened the front door, pocketing the newspaper. Riddle followed in after him.

"You really should take a modern magical history book out, Potter. I'm talking about Gellert Grindelwald."

"Who's he?" The boys slung their bags in the hallway closet, shutting the warm air of June out behind them. Riddle looked thoughtful. "What I've read, he's been seen as far the United States, collecting like-minded wizards to his cause. He and his followers have been accused of mass-slaughtering Muggles."

Riddle shrugged, if this wasn't a big deal. However, Tom's eyes widened akin to saucers. "Mass slaughtering Muggles?" he said, incredulously. "Don't you know what that means?" " _He's_ the Dark Lord! The one we're supposed to stop!"

Riddle looked skeptical. "No one's said he couldn't be named. Everyone can say Grindelwald."

"Who is saying Grindelwald?"

Both boys turned to face Tom's guardian, who was poised in the hallway of the house. He was dressed in a simple blue-shirt, black wings poking out of the back. He likewise was matched with a pair of time-inappropriate denim jeans. Riddle stared at this.

"What?" said the man. 

Tom snickered. "Those don't become in style for another few years," he added, feeling smug he had one up on Riddle, "Blue jeans. Invest in them. You'll be rich in the future."

"I'm not bothering with stupid Muggle clothing." said Riddle, dismissively.

"Suit yourself, I'm going to be a billionaire." said Tom, walking up to his guardian. 

The man gave him a nod, looking over the boys. "You got taller. Both of you."

"They feed us well at Hogwarts," said Tom.

"How was the schoolwork?" his guardian then asked, neon green and black sclera eyes focusing on him.

"Good," said Tom, noncommittally. "I studied a lot."

The winged man then looked to Riddle. "You two getting along?"

"We must be, or I would not be here." said Riddle, "Tom would have hexed me into the third-floor broom closet if we didn't get along by the end of the year."

Riddle gave Tom an approving look then. _Wow, he just complimented me by disguising it as a threat._

"You have improved your spells?" his guardian said. "I would ask you to show me, but-"

"No spells outside of school." replied Tom dutifully.

"Just so. Come to the garden, we will take tea and talk."

 

They talked for an hour or so, all three of them in the garden. Tom's Chrysanthemum's were budding again, which pleased the boy immensely.

"It's nice some things don't change," Tom commented. “Speaking of which, why did you change the front of the house?"

"More houses are being built in the neigbourhood. It is the style now, to have a gate." his guardian demurred.

"I see." said Tom.

Riddle then spoke up. "Mr. Potter?" Tom looked at Riddle, knowing what was coming. He gripped the handles of his chair in anticipation. "Yes?" the man said, lifting an eyebrow.

"Are you familiar with this?" The boy dug out piece of paper from his pocket and unrolled it onto the table.

It was a painting. At least, it was a copy of a painting. An angel dressed in Roman armour was depicted on it, grasping a spear. He was pointing it down to horned man pressed beneath his foot. A small inscription was at the bottom.

" _Victory of Saint Michael."_ read Tom's guardian. "Raphael, 1518." The neon eyes stared into determined grey, "You are an art collector, Tom Riddle?"

"Saint Michael is a Christian angel of death." Riddle pressed, leaning forward in his chair. Likewise, his guardian leaned forward, and the two of them had a brief staring contest, while Tom idly twiddled his thumbs. _Unstoppable force, meet immovable object,_ he mused.

"I am not an angel." the man shook his head after the tense moment, "I understand you may be confused with the wings. Also, my name is not Michael."

"It's Harry." said Tom brightly. His guardian scowled. 

"Harry Potter?" tested Riddle. "Doesn't sound angelic." He then ticked off his fingers, reciting as if he had memorized a list: "Saint Uriel. Saint Michael. Saint Gabriel. Saint Harry Potter."

"You are pushing your luck." Tom's guardian said, leaning back and dumping his tea out into the flowers.

"Who's the guy he's standing on, Satan?" Tom said, eyeing the picture again. "What's that supposed to stand for?"

"What do you have to do with death?" insisted Riddle.

"Where did you come up with that idea?" replied Tom's guardian.

The grey eyed boy didn't miss a beat. "Tom says you like hanging out in graveyards."

"Tom!" said the other boy, embarrassed. "I did not say that!"

The man rocked in his chair, folding his pale hands together around the cup he was still holding. "They bring me a sense of peace." he admitted. "I think about people I have lost and know that they are remembered." His face suddenly took a downturn.

_He's going to vanish._

"Who died?" Riddle said bluntly. "Aside from your parents? Your friends?"

The man did just that, Riddle letting out a squawk of surprise as he disappeared into thin air. "Where did he go?!" the boy said.

"I should have warned you." Tom said, picking up his guardian's teacup which had fallen to the ground. "He gets upset bringing up the past."

"The future, you mean." Riddle said, a look of wonder now on his face. "That was too fast for Apparition....Where does he go?"

"I've never asked."

They cleaned the remainder of the table off, washing the dishes and drying them methodically on the rack. The boys served themselves a dinner of roast chicken, ( _they teach us how to cook in the orphanage, Riddle said_ ) and headed to bed.

Tom's guardian did not return.

 

It was two weeks later that the winged man came back to 13 Lavenham Place.

Tom was sketching a picture of a blossoming flower he had seen in the garden when the man appeared in the kitchen, black wings folding behind him. "Welcome back." said Tom. His guardian didn't acknowledge the comment.

"Where is Tom Riddle?" he said, neon eyes scanning the room. "Why is he not with you?"

"He went to the local library." Granted, the local library was forty-five minutes by cab, but- "He's trying to read up about our father."

"Tom Riddle in a Muggle library," mused his guardian, "But you did not go with him?"

"No." the boy fidgeted, "I was waiting for you." 

His guardian looked down at the picture he was drawing. "You are very talented,” he surmised.

"Thanks." Tom dropped the pencil, pushing it to rest against the paper. "Um, where do you go?" At his guardian's blank stare, he asked again, “When you vanish?"

His guardian's neon eyes briefly shut with restraint. "Away."

Tom rose to his feet, sudden fury lashing in his chest, "It's always the same with you! You give these cryptic answers and expect me to just accept them! I'm sick of it!" He slammed his hands down in anger, hands balling into fists against the tabletop.

His guardian did not react. Instead he slowly sat down the table, placing his folded hands in his lap. "Are you done?" he said.

"No." the boy glared. "You tell me what you are. You won't tell me what I'm supposed to do? Fine. I can figure that out for myself. I will stop the Dark Lord from ever rising again. But if you think I will just sit here and-"

"I am the Master of Death." said Harry Potter.

Tom blinked his eyes "Master...of..death?" he repeated.

"Sit." said his guardian. Tom did so. "I will be quite honest with you Tom, I do not know as much about _what_ I am as you think I do. It has only been a few years since this happened to me."

Tom licked his dry lips, leaning forward in his chair. "Tell me what you do know."

The neon eyes flicked to Tom's drawing, then back to the boy's face. "What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

"It's Gellert Grindelwald's symbol." Tom replied smartly. Riddle had lent him a book on the man after he had found Tom's knowledge on the subject lacking.

"Yes. Can you draw it for me?"

Tom took his sketchpad back into his hands, picking up the charcoal pencil as he did so. He flipped it forward to reveal a new, blank page. The boy drew the symbol of the Hallows in the centre, then turned the drawing to face it towards his guardian.

"Yes..." his guardian then tapped a pale finger to the top of the triangle, "The Invisibility Cloak." he traced down lower, finger following the line drawn in the center, "the Elder wand. And finally..." the man dragged a slow finger to the circle surrounding the line, "The Resurrection Stone."

"They are items," stated Tom. His guardian nodded. "What does this have to do with, well, what you are?"

"It was believed that uniting all three would make one the Master of death. In my previous life, I had managed to accomplish this."

"How did you do that?"

"The Invisibility cloak I inherited from my father. The Elder wand I managed to win in a duel." The man had a pensive look on his face. "I only realized this much later on."

"After, well..." Tom gestured helplessly to the wings. "Yes. After this." his guardian replied, looking over his shoulder to extend a black wing out, until it had fully extended in the kitchen.

"And the Resurrection stone?"

"It was given to me by a trusted mentor." the boy watched his guardian draw his wing to refold it behind him. The man was still half-faced away from him as he did this. The neon eyes closed for a moment.

"Where are they now? The cloak, the wand, the stone?" said Tom, looking over his shoulder as if expect to see them sitting on the kitchen counter.

"They are out of my hands." The electric eyes reopened, staring at the floor. 

"If you don't have them, how are you their master?" asked Tom.

The man shifted forward to reface Tom. "It is a matter of ownership. While I never physically had all three together, they all belonged to me. That made me their Master."

"So as Master of Death, what is that you do? Like, are you a grim reaper or something?"

His guardian gave him a long look. "Do you think I am a grim reaper?"

"You don't look like a skeleton. Which makes me ask, what does Death look like? Did you see him when you became its master?"

"I do not know what Death looks like. Neither am I skeleton, though I suppose I could-" suddenly his guardian's head transformed into a grinning skull, neon eyes staring out of black sockets.

"AUGH!" Tom shrieked, falling out of chair. "WHAT ARE YOU?"

His guardian's skeleton head popped back into a normal head. "I am the master of Death. " he said simply. Tom shook his head from where he was still on the floor.

"You're bonkers is what you are."

"That is not false." said his guardian. A sudden slam of the door interrupted them.

"Tom's back," said the boy, climbing to his feet.

Riddle strode in the kitchen. He looked furious. "You _knew."_ he said accusingly to Tom's guardian.

"Knew what?" said Tom, brushing dust from his trousers. His guardian only looked over Riddle's shaking body.

"That my father's a _Muggle."_ snapped Riddle.

"A Muggle?!" exclaimed Tom. "But you said only pure-bloods get sorted in Slyther-"

Riddle aimed a punch at him. He was only stopped when a black wing snapped out, knocking him to the ground.

"I would not try that again, Tom Riddle." rang out the man's voice, coldly.

The boy raised himself to his feet, shooting the winged man a dark glare. He stomped outside to the garden, slamming the green door shut behind him.

"He will need a moment." said his guardian. He refocused his neon eyes on Tom. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah I'm fine." said Tom, willing his heartbeat to slow. He walked up to the garden door, only pausing for a moment to look back to the man, "I'm going to talk to him."

"Do you want me to go with you?" replied his guardian.

Tom shook his head. "He's already pissed off at you. I think I can handle it."

 

Tom found Riddle standing in front of the flowerbed. He was physically shaking. "Tom..." he heard himself say.

"What?" snapped Riddle. He whirled around, grey eyes flashing with rage. "Come to say something smart?"

"He's my father too." said Tom quietly.

Riddle had nothing to say to this, turning his back on the other boy. "I didn't think I was going to find anything in that library. A Muggle library. But lo and behold, there's a whole directory about _Tom Riddle_."

"Who is he?" said Tom.

"Some Muggle man living in Little Hangleton. Who cares." said Riddle.

 _You do._ thought Tom. "Does he have parents? Siblings? A wife?"

Riddle flinched, but crossed his arms across his chest, hugging himself." He's well off, according to a paper clipping I saw," Riddle answered. "There wasn't any mention of my..."

"Your mother," said Tom.

"Which begs the next question. About your own mother." Riddle's grey eyes focused on Tom now, almost disapprovingly, "She must have been a Muggle too."

"Now why do you keep pushing that?" Tom said, exasperated. "Just because our mothers were different people, that doesn't mean mine wasn't a witch too!"

"You were born in a Muggle hospital," sniffed Riddle, "If she was a witch, she would have gone to St. Mungo's."

"You were born in an orphanage," pointed Tom, "That wasn't St. Mungo's either."

"My mother's a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, " Riddle said, drawing himself up a little bit more. "It doesn't matter where she had me. All that matters is in these veins courses the very same blood as one of the greatest wizards that ever lived."

"Is that what you told yourself after you found out you're a half-blood?" said Tom, irritated.

Riddle's eyes flashed with anger, but thankfully, he seemed to have reigned in his temper. "I'm going to find everything out about the Slytherin bloodline. I don't know enough about them yet, but when I get back to Hogwarts..." the boy declared.

"I'll see you in the library every day." finished Tom.

"No." Riddle frowned. "There's more to Slytherin than books. I'm going to explore and find out what lies in the castle."

"There's something in the castle?" replied Tom in interest.

"There must be," said Riddle determinedly, "And I am going to find it."

 

The rest of the summer went as normal as could be expected. The three fell into a semi-normal routine.

Riddle would read the books he had stolen out of Hogwarts over and over. Tom would draw flowers. And his guardian would sit, idly pestering them questions about school.

"So, what is Professor Dumbledore like?" he said, one such morning.

"You knew him?" said Riddle.

"I did." replied the man. "He was...is a good man."

"He dies?" Riddle balked. "When?"

"We all die, Tom Riddle."

Now Riddle's face took an ugly look. "We don't have to die."

"What makes you think that?" Tom's guardian gave him a searching glance.

"Ten out of ten people die," commented Tom, not looking up from drawing in his sketchpad, "It's statistics."

Riddle whacked Tom on the back of the head in a gesture of annoyance. "What my brother doesn't understand is that we are wizards. We have magic. Why do we die?"

"It is the way of things."

"You're the master of death," argued Riddle, (Tom had had the liberty of filling him in on his guardian's explanation). "Will you die?"

The man tapped a pale finger to his chin, thoughtfully. "What do you think?"

"No." Riddle said, "If you are death-"

"I am the master. Not Death." interrupted the man.

Riddle scowled. "That's what I was going to say before you interrupted me. "

"But doesn't that mean you are immortal?" said Tom, briefly pausing from his drawing, “You are mastering death."

"You misinterpret. Being the Master of death does not mean conquering death. It means accepting your fate that you will die."

"What's the use of the Deathly Hallows if you can't make yourself immortal?" said Riddle crossly.

"That invisibility cloak sounds like it would be pretty handy," interjected Tom, shading in a petal, "Since Tom wants to sneak around the school."

"To do what?" inquired his guardian. Riddle kicked him under the table.

"Probably steal more books," said Tom, shooting an annoyed glance towards the other boy.

His guardian gave them an unconvinced stare. "I see. Speaking of books, what classes do you enjoy?"

"Defense against the Dark Arts," both boys said, simultaneously. They both looked at each other in disbelief.

"That was uncanny," said Tom's guardian, who sounded like it wasn't uncanny to him at all, "Why is that?"

"Well, Mr. Potter, " said Riddle, "I believe there is a need to be familiar with dark spells."

"And why do you say that?"

"For protection," said Riddle smoothly.

"To know thy enemy." said Tom. Both boys gave each other searching glances.

"Is this referring to Gellert Grindelwald?" sighed his guardian.

"Well yes," said Tom, closing his sketchpad. "We are going to put a stop to the Dark Lord. We need to know everything about the kind of spells we could face."

Now his guardian was tapping his fingers together. "You think two twelve-year-old wizards are going to take down Gellert Grindelwald?"

Tom scowled. "Well, I didn't say we were going to do it today."

His guardian folded his hands. "I would leave the matter of Grindelwald to the trained professionals. He will not be stopped by a pair of underage wizards, no matter how many dark arts spells you two familiarize yourselves with."

"You're referring to the Aurors, aren't you?" Riddle said then. He then poked Tom in the arm. "Did you read that book I gave you?" 

"You have given me ten books to read." said Tom flatly.

"Well, did you?"

"An elite unit of highly-trained, specialist officers trained in dealing with crimes involving the Dark Arts." Tom recited. Riddle gave him a pleased look.

"A textbook definition," said his guardian, amused, "Surely you two are not related."

"I still say Riddle's just a bloke masquerading as me." quipped Tom.

 

** Sources: **

_Definition of Avatar:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Avatar>

_"A Lion doesn't concern himself with the opinions of the sheep," Game of Thrones (2011-2019):_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T3kX3mzCSQ4>

_Spain Leaves League of Nations:_

<http://www.answers.com/Q/Why_did_Spain_withdraw_from_the_league_of_nations?#slide=12>

_Ignotus Peverell._

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Ignotus_Peverell>

_St. Michael:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Saint_Michael_in_the_Catholic_Church>

_Irresistible Force Paradox_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Irresistible_force_paradox>

_"...warns of impending conflict in Europe."_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/European_theatre_of_World_War_II>

_Gellert Grindelwald:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Gellert_Grindelwald>

_Deathly Hallows:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Deathly_Hallows>

_Death as depicted in the film Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (2010)- with wings_

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN1_h_eGitE&t=2m50s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bN1_h_eGitE&t=2m50s)

_"There's something in the castle?"_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Chamber_of_Secrets>

_Aurors:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Auror>


	5. Chapter 5

Soon September came, and the boys found themselves back in Hogwarts for their second year of schooling. Potions was no longer with Slytherin, but the two boys found themselves in the same Defense against the Dark Arts class.

"Welcome back to another year of class, students. Today... we shall study...the Disarming Charm!" said their Professor with dramatic flourish. According to Tom Riddle, (by way of Slughorn) their DADA teacher had been subjected one too many times to the Imperius curse during her training at the Ministry. As such, she had a taste for the theatrical.

Riddle nudged Tom from where he sat behind him, "You said your guardian taught you this spell."

"He did." said Tom, feeling confident. "He told me it was crucial in defending yourself."

"Who needs defense when you can have offense?" whispered Riddle.

"For someone who doesn't care about Quidditch, you still bring that up." said Tom over his shoulder.

"Mr. Potter!" rang a tremulous voice from the front, "Was there something you wished to share with the class?"

Tom sank in his seat. "No Professor."

"Don't be shy, Potter." said the Professor, twirling her wand. "We need a demonstration."

"Oh great." muttered Tom.

"Have fun." Riddle said from behind.

"I hate you."

Tom pulled himself up from his chair, and trudged to the front of the class, reluctantly. As he turned to face the class, he saw Riddle lean back, whispering to his fellow Slytherin classmates. A boy, whom he knew was named Avery, shot Tom a smug look. Tom scowled, not willing to be humiliated, least of all in front of Tom Riddle's gang.

"Now Mr. Potter, you will face me and bow," said the woman. Tom did so. "Very good. Now, ordinarily in a wizarding duel, you would have a second. As such, we are only demonstrating, so there will be no need for one."

 _Is it even allowed to practice on students?_ Tom thought worriedly.

"Now repeat after me. _Expelliarmus."_ The woman said, facing the class.

"Expelliarmus." the class dutifully replied.

"Very good. Now Mr. Potter, on the count of three, you will cast this spell at me. Likewise, I will cast it on you. Class, I wish for you to observe the correct enunciation of this spell, as it is crucial in the heat of battle."

Tom swallowed nervously. _Here goes nothing._

"On the count of three," the woman said, raising her wand, "One...two...THREE...!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!" cried Tom, shooting a jet of red light at the woman. She nimbly dodged, pointing her wand at the boy, " _Expelliarmus!"_

Tom flattened himself to the ground, as the class let out a collective gasp of breath. The red light flashed over his head, careening into the wall with a CRACK.

"Very good, Mr. Potter!" praised his teacher, stalking forward, "But one of us must be disarmed. _Expelliarmus_!"

Tom dodged behind the teacher's desk as the class began to cheer. His heart-rate had begun to increase, and he began to panic, gripping his holly wand. Sweat slicked down his neck. She was so fast. How would he disarm her?

 _"Expelliarmus!"_ shot the teacher quickly. The shot flew over Tom's head, missing by inches. Tom raised himself to his feet suddenly, pointing his wand at his teacher's chest.

 _"CRUCIO!"_ he barked.

The spell aimed true. The Professor was struck in the chest and fell to the ground, writhing in pain.

The class fell silent.

Tom stood there, shaking as he slowly lowered his wand. The Professor unbent herself from the floor.

"I..." he said, no words formulating. The woman narrowed her brown eyes at him.

"Class dismissed. " she said abruptly. "Potter, you come with me."

 

 _I am going to be expelled._ thought Tom.

He was standing outside the Headmaster's office, when before him came-

"Professor Dumbledore." said Tom sadly.

The man gave Tom a searching look. "Mr. Potter, is it true you used an Unforgiveble curse on a teacher?"

"I'm sorry." whispered Tom.

"How does a second-year student know how to cast Unforgiveable curses?" said the spectacled man, crossing his arms.

"I.." Tom stared at the ground. "Learned it...on my own?"

"You did not," said the Professor sternly, "Did your guardian teach you this?"

The boy bit his lip, not looking at Dumbledore.

"Tom, I need to know." The blue eyes gazed at him searchingly, "it could determine whether or not you face expulsion."

Tom squeezed his eyes shut. "He didn't teach me. He just told me about them."

"Why would he be telling you about Unforgiveable curses?"

"He said I need to know about them because of what's going to happen," he said, opening his eyes to stare at the floor.

"Grindelwald." finalized Dumbledore. He had a strange look on his face.

"Yes." Tom sniffed, hugging his arms to chest.

"I understand," the man said, looking off. "And might I reiterate, you have not been practicing these spells?"

"No. I don't even know why I used it."

Dumbledore let out a sigh. "Remain here, Tom." He walked past, entering into the Headmaster's office via a large stone Gargoyle.

Tom fidgeted, putting his hands in his pockets. What would happen to him? Would he be sent back home, wand snapped in half? Would he be forced to find himself a new home, after his guardian disowned him?

 _Maybe I'll go live with Tom Riddle at the Orphanage._ he thought bitterly. He waited for a few minutes, then Dumbledore returned.

"Mr. Potter, come with me."

The two entered into the office then, and Tom locked eyes with the headmaster, an elderly man with pale skin, brown eyes and lengthy white beard.

"Professor Dippet." said Tom respectfully.

The man was seated behind a mahogany desk. "I just got done speaking to Professor Merrythought." He was speaking to Dumbledore. "She is flabbergasted that a student would be sending Unforgiveables during their second year, let alone at all." Tom dropped his face, feeling it colour.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I understand, Sir."

"You are the boy's head of House, and as such, I must inform you that he faces expulsion." said Dippet solemnly. 

Tom wrung his hands. "I understand," repeated Dumbledore. "But I feel there are certain things that must be addressed before sentencing the boy."

"And those are?" said the headmaster, brown eyes looking at the man.

"Yesterday, Poland was invaded by Germany." said Dumbledore quietly.

Dippet gave a him a severe look. "And why does this concern me, Albus? That is a war being fought amongst Muggles."

"You cannot deny there are links to Gellert Grindelwald with what is going on in Europe."

"That is pure speculation," Dippet said crossly, "There has been no confirmation from the Ministry that Grindelwald is involved with a Muggle war."

"The Ministry turns a blind eye. Look at what is going on!" Dumbledore drew forth a newspaper.

"A _Muggle_ newspaper, Albus?" said Dippet incredulously. 

Tom was too curious not to look.

THE EVENING STANDARD

**'GERMANS INVADE AND BOMB POLAND'**

**Warsaw, Cracow, Katowice Reported Bombed: Danzig is "Annexed"**

**OFFENSIVE STARTS ALONG THE WHOLE FRONTIER**

"This is only the beginning," Dumbledore said, "We have seen what Grindelwald has done in other countries, and it is only a matter of time before we are involved as well."

"That is a problem of Europe. Not us." Dippet snapped.

Dumbledore shook his head. "Not everyone feels this way. Why, I am surprised more students haven't come to the school practicing defensive spells."

"An Unforgiveable curse is not a defensive spell. "

"No," agreed Dumbledore, "But they can be used as such. It well known within our circles that they have been employed by Ministry officials as counter spells."

Dippet rocked back in his chair, crossing his hands together. "So you are saying the boy should be excused for using a defensive spell?" He had a skeptical look on his face.

"I am saying is we need to be more aware of what is coming. We must educate the students. Tom Potter was told of this spell by his guardian. He will not be the only young person to receive instruction by a trusted caretaker on how to defend oneself in the upcoming conflict."

Dippet gave a lengthy sigh, brown eyes locking onto Tom. "Do you have anything to add, Mr. Potter?"

"I am very sorry, sir." he said, raising his head to stare at the headmaster.

Dippet gave him a curious look. "You are -"

"Related to Tom Riddle." finished Tom, giving him a nod, "Yes, we're brothers."

"I see." said the headmaster, "Sympathetic circumstances does Mr. Riddle have. I am assuming you live with your parents?"

"He does not," said Dumbledore, finishing before Tom could jump in, "He was also an orphan, like Tom Riddle."

"Very well." Dippet then closed his eyes, pausing.

"Albus, I trust your judgment. I do not believe the war in Europe will concern us, but I understand your point that the students must be made aware of it. It stands to reason they may have already been educated on the subject. As educators, it is our duty to instruct our students lest they practice on their own devices."

Dippet then gave Tom a lengthy stare. "You will apologize to Professor Merrythought."

"Yes sir!"

"And I do not want to hear another mention of an Unforgiveable from you, Potter, or you will be sent to Azkaban."

"Azkaban?" stuttered Tom.

Dumbledore placed a hand on his shoulder. "They do not send children to Azkaban." he said mildly.

Dippet scoffed. "They should."

 

"I can't believe they let you off." said Riddle.

"Dippet wanted to send me to Azkaban." Tom said gloomily.

The two boys were leaving the Defensive Against the Dark Arts class, having been released for the evening. Tom had immediately apologized to Professor Merrythought after the class had been dismissed. She had waved a hand carelessly.

"Professor Dumbledore told me of your circumstances, Mr. Potter. While I do not personally employ Unforgiveables, I have colleagues that have. I do not think lesser of them. I don't suppose I know your-"

"Guardian. No, you wouldn't know him."

"I see," she said, giving him a once-over, "You are light on your feet, Mr. Potter. Good reflexive skills. Have you ever considered becoming an Auror?"

Tom shook his head.

"Might want to give it a thought." she said, escorting him out of the classroom. That's when Tom had found Riddle outside waiting for him.

"I wonder if Dumbledore sent a letter home." said Tom, a worried thought crossing his mind.

"Maybe he'll send you a Howler." said Riddle thoughtfully.

"He doesn't seem to be the type to do that."

"Maybe he'll appear in your room and stomp on you." Riddle's face darkened.

"Now why would you say that?" asked Tom, confused.

"Excuse me." interrupted Riddle. A group of boys were waiting expectantly for him at the end of the hallway.

"Oh, it's the Knights who say Ni." said Tom, addressing them.

They all gave him a baffled stare.

"I miss the future." he muttered.

 

The rest of the semester passed fairly normally, even if there was an increase in school guidelines pertaining to the brewing conflict. Hogwarts still continued on, despite the impending threat of war.

It was Christmas time, and Tom Potter had opted to stay at Hogwarts. His guardian had actually been the one to suggest it.

"There is a great feast, and wizard crackers- you should see it, Tom."

"But what about you?"

His guardian had given him a shrug. "What about me?"

"You don't want to be alone on Christmas, do you?"

"It would not be the first time." his guardian replied. At Tom's distressed look, he ran a hand through his own raven hair, "I did not mean it that way."  
  
"But-"

"Besides, it might be a good opportunity to work with Tom Riddle. No classes, time to yourselves. You could catch up on studying."

"You mean catch up on learning about how to stop Gellert Grindelwald," he said slyly.

"Knock yourselves out," his guardian had said, rolling his eyes.

However, he hadn't seen much of Tom Riddle lately. He was always hanging out in his stupid little club. But miraculously, Tom found him sitting alone in the Great Hall at the beginning of the holiday break.

"Where's the glee club?" he asked, looking around.

Riddle gave him a deadly look. "What club?"

Tom sighed, slinging his bag down to sit next to him. "Nevermind. How goes life in Slytherin?"

"Busy." commented Riddle. He looked over Tom's shoulder, as if expecting to see someone beside him. "Still friendless?"

"You know it." said Tom, unwilling to rise to the bait.

"Perhaps it has to do with the fact you send Unforgiveable curses your first day of class. Maybe you're Grindelwald's disciple and we're all looking at the rise of the next future Dark Lord."

"For your information, I was told by Professor Merrythought I would make a good Auror. " Tom said stiffly, feeling old embarrassment creeping on him.

"You, an Auror." Riddle gave him a skeptical look.

Tom ran an aggrieved hand through his hair. "Do we really need to talk about this now?"

"I suppose not." Riddle turned back to pile of notes he had stacked in front of him.

"Find out anything about Slytherin?"

"Not much." Riddle sighed then. "There is less than I assumed there would be on Salazar Slytherin." He then gave a sideways look to Tom. "Plenty on Godric Gyffindor, though."

"What did you find out about him?"

"All this glowing information about his bravery and heroics," Riddle tapped the book in disgust, "The author had a clear bias."

"History is written by the victors," Tom said proudly, pointing to the Gryffindor hourglass which was full of scarlet rubies.

"History is written by the arrogant." grumbled Riddle.

"You would know." said Tom, placing his chin on his hands as he bent his head to the table.

Riddle picked up his quill and began to scribble some notes. They sat in companionable silence, the only sound the scratching of the writing utensil against the paper. Tom spoke up after.

"I wonder what he's doing."

"Who?" said Riddle, unfocused.

"My guardian."

"His name is Harry. Why don't you call him that?"

"He never told me his name." Tom tapped his fingers against the table, head still bent down. "I had to hear it from someone else."

"Mm. Well, I'm calling him Harry."

"You'll piss him off."

"Then we'll both be on equal footing." Riddle dipped his quill in the ink, resuming writing.

 

"Happy Christmas, Tom!"

Riddle gave him an unbelieving look. "Don't tell me you-"

"Yes, I did, and here it is." Tom proudly shoved the small package into Riddle's arms.

It was Christmas day, and the remaining staff and students had just finished celebrating in the Great Hall. True to his guardian's word, it had been a memorable experience. Seeing Professor Kettleburn unleash a mob of provoked pixies onto the staff and students would be a memory Tom Potter would treasure for some time.

He observed one said fairy screeching and flying down the hall. The school poltergeist shrieked and chased after it.

"One of these days Kettleburn's going to get sacked." said Tom.

"They like him too much." Riddle said, inspecting the package. He gave it a shake, then held it loosely in his hands.

"Potter, I didn't get you anything." he said, flicking grey eyes to Tom.

"What if Christmas doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?" Tom recited.

"Let me guess, another stupid reference to the future," Riddle gave him a disgusted look. "You are so predictable it's annoying."

"Open the package Tom." the other boy said, not willing to argue on Christmas.

Riddle opened it then. It was a toy snake.

"What...?" he said, incredulously. "Potter, you gave me a stuffed animal."

"Come on, it's cute. For Slytherin. Right?"

"Cute." echoed Riddle, picking up the green snake. He then gave a curious look to Tom. "Why did you give this to me?"

"You're the heir of Slytherin. A snake seemed appropriate."

"A snake..." trailed Riddle thoughtfully.

"Come on Riddle, let's see if Peeves catches the fairy."

The two boys walked further into the dungeons, side by side. Riddle settled the stuffed snake into his pocket.

 

Winter led into Spring, then the beginnings of summer. Once again, the boys found themselves enroute to 13 Lavenham place.

"Steal any books this time, Riddle?" said Tom.

"Nope." Riddle leaned back in the cab. "This summer I'm going to learn about spells."

"How? You know we can't do spells on our own yet."

"We can't. _He_ can." There was no question to who he was.

"Why do you want him to teach you spells?"

"You cast a _Crucio_ your first day of class. Let's say I'm inspired."

"Don't tell me you're planning on using Dark Spells too?" Tom said in mock horror. "People might think we are related."

"The Dark Brothers Riddle. Has a nice ring to it." said Tom Riddle.

"For the last time, my name is Potter, not Riddle. Could you imagine if there were two Tom Riddles running around Hogwarts?"

"I could do things and everyone would blame you," Riddle mused. "Could be advantageous."

"It's a two-way street, Riddle. I could take your glee club and have them start handing out pro-Muggle propaganda."

"You just say that 'cause your Muggleborn." Riddle rolled his eyes, staring out the window.

"Yeah, a Muggleborn who, might I remind you, got a higher score in their Defense against the Dark Arts class than a certain Tom Riddle?"

"That's because Professor Merrythought likes you." Riddle said crossly.

"Success breeds jealously, Tom?"

Riddle punched him in the shoulder.

 

"To cast _Expecto Patronum_ , you need a happy thought-"

" _It's the same as having wings_!"

"Don't sing that song, Potter."

The three were standing in the garden. Tom's guardian had his old holly wand extended out, having borrowed it from him. A shimmering light appeared out of it as he waved his hand.

"This is a rather advanced spell." stated the man, wings folding neatly behind him. "As such, only highly trained wizards perform it. I learned it in my third year, but those were under special circumstances."

"What were those?" asked Riddle.

"Dementors. Guards of Azkaban." His neon eyes narrowed. "Dark creatures that suck the soul out of people."

"That's a skill that could be useful to have." Riddle commented. Tom stared. "Well think about it, you wouldn't want to be sent to Azkaban if your soul was going to get sucked out, now would you?"

"I suppose that's a good incentive." said Tom in disbelief. _A useful skill to have? Where does he get these ideas..._

"It has been a long time since I have cast this spell." The neon eyes closed for a moment. "To be honest, I am not sure I can do it anymore."

"Why show us then?" Riddle said.

"Because it is important. " The neon eyes reopened. "This is a spell that speaks to your heart. It shows what you have within yourself." 

The man's eyebrows furrowed, as he extended his arm out. " _Expecto Patronum!"_ he commanded, flicking his wrist in an exaggerated motion. The wand drew forth a thin wisp of silver light, and fell before them, mist-like, akin to a fog.

"Wow." said Tom in awe. The mist undulated up towards the sky, rising up…and then collapsed as quickly as it had been cast.

"No," said his guardian, slowly lowering the wand. "That is an Incorporeal Patronus." He handed the holly wand back to Tom Potter, a desolate expression crossing his face.

"So that's not the real thing?" said Riddle, disappointed.

"It is real." the man pulled a garden chair to him, sitting down in it with a sigh. The black wings dipped over the chair handles. "But it is not what I wanted to show you."

"You wanted a corporeal Patronus." finished Tom, looking sympathetically towards his guardian. "What was yours?"

"It was a Stag." At the boys' curious looks, he continued, "My father was an Animagus. He transformed into a Stag."

"Oh. So does your Patronus take the form of your parents?"

"Not necessarily." He crossed his hands in his lap, "Some Patronuses take forms of animals people like. Others model characteristics a person has. And some take the form of creatures representing people they love."

"Love." Riddle repeated. He gave him skeptical look.

"The most powerful magic of all." replied the man, a far-off look on his face.

 

_Tom was dreaming again._

_He was crouched next to a small girl, who was crying. They were in the shade of an old house, in a neighbourhood Tom had long forgotten the name of._

_"It's ok," he heard himself say, "Don't cry."_

_"It's just.." she let forth a loud sob, "my mum's so scared of me!"_

_"Why's that?" he said, confused. His guardian was never scared of him._

_"She says I do wicked things." the girl cried, rubbing her reddened face. "She says I'm evil."_

_"I don't think you're evil," said Tom. "You look like a girl."_

_The girl sniffed. "And you look like a boy. What's your name?"_

_"Tom."_

_"My name's Emily. I'm five." the girl said, wiping the tears away. "Do you live here?" she pointed at the house behind them._

_"No, we live across the street." he pointed a small finger to it. "I just saw you crying from there and I came over. Why are you here?"_

_"I ran away from home." she sniffed. "My mum doesn't want me."_

_"Why don't you come with me?" The boy said, "You don't have to be alone." She gave him a small smile._

_Suddenly a loud series of cracks sounded, and the girl clung to him, frightened._

_A group of darkly robed men stood before them. A man with a silver mask stood in the front. He looked over at Tom, then focused his sightless eyes on the small girl in his arms._

_"The obscurial." he said in a low voice. "Dispose of the boy."_

_The girl whimpered, digging further into his chest. Tom clung back, too frightened to move._

_A smaller masked figure to the man's right stepped forward, extending a wand to point it at Tom's face. By looks of it, she was a woman._

_Tom stared at the end of wand, giving a small cry._

_She spoke, "Avada Keda-"_

_Then she no longer had a head._

_A black blur too fast to see suddenly struck into the group, and Tom could see huge, black wings flapping out in a rage, like a giant hawk loosened amongst chickens._

_The men began to howl in terror, throwing spells. The headless woman, spurting blood from her neck, fell before Tom. The body spasmed where it lay._

_The girl gave a horrified yell, and suddenly Tom was holding onto mist. The writhing mist that had been the girl shot into the house, fleeing the ensuing havoc._

_Tom could only sit there as he watched the man he called his guardian systemically rip the men apart limb from limb._

_Then he began to scream._

 

"Wake up Potter!"

Tom gasped, shooting up in the bed, his heart pounding. Riddle was leaning over him, grey eyes staring into his own.

"Nightmare." said Tom, willing his breaths to slow.

"I see that." Riddle said. He was still sitting on Tom's bed, where he had climbed over from his own. "What was it about?"

"It was..." Tom began to tremble, and Riddle reached a hand out to his arm to steady him.

"What?"

"I can't remember." he turned away from the other boy, and laid back down, rolling to his side. "Go back to bed."

The other boy sat in silence. Eventually, Riddle moved off his bed, pattering over to his own.

Tom clutched a hand to his heart, staring blankly at the wall.

 

**_ Sources: _ **

_Expelliarmus_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Disarming_Charm>

_Crucio_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Cruciatus_Curse>

_Tom Riddle's gang:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Tom_Riddle's_gang>

_Headmaster Dippet_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Armando_Dippet>

_Professor Merrythought_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Galatea_Merrythought>

_The Evening Standard:_

<http://c8.alamy.com/comp/E5GHPG/1939-evening-standard-london-front-page-reporting-the-invasion-of-E5GHPG.jpg>

_"The Knights who say Ni," Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zIV4poUZAQo>

_"What if Christmas doesn't come from a store. What if Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more?" How the Grinch Stole Christmas (1966)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hqOOUJFv1n0>

_"It's the same as having wings!" Peter Pan, Disney, (1953)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qpHR7nH-TPs>

_Patronus:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Patronus_Charm>

_Animagus:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Animagus>

_Emily:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Obscurial>

_Harry kills the Death Eaters- Inspired by a musical movement from 'The Dark Portal, ' World of Warcraft, The Burning Crusade (2007)_

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hj-MaVMdMbg&t=1m34s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Hj-MaVMdMbg&t=1m34s)

 


	6. Chapter 6

_One more day until Hogwarts..._ mused Tom. _We'll be third years._

He was watching Tom Riddle and his guardian from where he was sketching in the garden. Tom had grown tired of spellwork, (he was on summer break after all) and wanted to pursue his other ( _pointless, Riddle had said_ ) hobbies. Riddle, who had an insatiable hunger for improving his spells, had continued his lessons with Tom's guardian.

Despite it all, it was clear that Riddle and his guardian had gone from dislike to toleration. Tom observed the man correct Riddle's stance. The boy was holding a stick.

"I don't see why we can't do this with a wand." complained Riddle.

"Because I know you, Tom Riddle, and you will cast a spell." said his guardian, gripping Riddle's shoulder and simultaneously pushing on his spine.

"Now keep your back straight. Chin up. Enunciate the words I tell you."

"Got it, Harry."

A wing rapped him on the head. "That's Mr. Potter to you."

Tom rolled his eyes, going back to his sketch. He was drawing a stag. _I hope he'll like it_ , he thought to himself. He began to shade in the horns.

"Now say _Ascendio_."

"A levitation spell?" said Riddle. "Must be convenient when you can just up and fly whenever you like. Why don't you teach me a spell to grow wings?"

Tom burst into laughter at the mental image it made. "Tom Riddle, winged terror of Slytherin!"

Riddle scowled at him. The older man simply leaned over him, re-correcting his position.

"Chest out." he placed a pale hand on the boy's elbow, keeping the arm straight, "Now say it again. _Ascendio."_

 _"Ascendio."_ Riddle repeated. His grey eyes darted to the pale hand.

"Good." praised the man, releasing his hand and pacing over to the garden wall. He observed Tom Riddle's position from the angle he was standing at, giving a thoughtful nod. "Not bad, Riddle."

"Do you fly?" blurted Riddle.

The man gave a tilt of his head. "On occasion I do."

"Can I see?"

Tom dropped his pencil, interested.

His guardian outstretched his black wings, bending his legs to low the ground. He crouched momentarily, then shot up, raven wings beating into the air, sending the flowers fluttering beneath him.

"Whoah!" said Tom as his guardian climbed higher in the sky.

"Whoah indeed." said Riddle, grey eyes intently focused on Harry's form in the air.

 

The year had the potential to start out better than the last.

For starters, Riddle was spending more time with him. He still had his little group, but on occasion, Tom was invited to sit with them.

"I really don't need this." said Tom exasperatedly one morning, as he passed him on the way to the Quidditch pitch. He knew the other boy was trying to include him.

"You don't have friends," sniffed Riddle. "Consider it a favour for being related to me."

"Now that's where you are wrong." Tom said. "I do have a friend. And I'm meeting her at the match."

"Her?" said Riddle incredulously.

"Yes, her. Some of us like girls, Tom." he said. Riddle gave him a strange look.

"What?"

"Who's this girl of yours, then?" Riddle said, ignoring the question.

"Myrtle Warren. She's a first year."

"You cannot mean that Muggle girl." Riddle's grey eyes were wide open now, "My brother, with a-"

"I'm a Muggle too, Tom!" he snapped, "Or have you forgotten that?"

Riddle fell quiet.

"I don't know what it is you have against Muggles, but you listen here, Tom Riddle." he pointed a finger at the other boy's chest, "Our father is a Muggle."

"He's not my father!" snarled Riddle. "He's nothing!"

"That's all said and good, but guess what? That doesn't change what you and I are. You might feel differently, but plenty of good wizards have Muggle parents. Open your eyes."

Riddle kicked a leaf pile then, clearly not hearing him. "You're different." he said finally, grey eyes boring into his own.

"I'm your brother Tom. If anything, you should try seeing me for who I am, not what I am."

Tom stalked off, leaving Riddle alone in the cloister.

 

"AND CHASER MAGGIE SMITH SCORES! RAVENCLAW TAKES THE LEAD!"

Tom was sitting with Myrtle Warren as the chaser pumped her fist in the air in victory.

"I really don't understand the point of this game." sniffed the spectacled girl.

"It's only Quidditch, the greatest sport ever invented." Tom said, eyes focused as a Slytherin chaser darted forward, dodging a bludger, "I hope Ravenclaw whips Slytherin."

"Why don't you play?" she asked, eyes flicking on his face.

"I'd not be any good," he replied distractedly, watching the Ravenclaw seeker spiral in the air, "You have to be really skilled on a broomstick."

"Have you ever tried?"

Tom gave a shrug. "Nah, I'm more focused on spells and books. I wouldn't mind flying though."

"Hm." the girl said.

The two watched as the Ravenclaw beaters countered a bludger, sending it weaving towards the Slytherin stands. The students squawked as the bludger swooped over their heads, re-entering the game.

"Isn't your brother in Slytherin?" Myrtle said.

Tom scowled. "Yes."

"Shouldn't you be cheering for them?"

"Just because he's my brother? That doesn't make me a Slytherin supporter." he said stiffly. He looked over to the Slytherin stands, but in the mass of people, it was hard to make out whether or not Tom Riddle was at the game.

"Honestly, I'm cheering for them." commented Myrtle.

"What?" he said. "But you're in Ravenclaw?"

"Olive Hornby's the Ravenclaw seeker. I hope she falls off her broom." she said obstinately.

Myrtle Warren got part of her wish, as the Slytherin seeker suddenly dove and snatched the snitch mid-air, ending the game in a myriad of cheers and boos.

 

"Massive German air raids on London, Southampton, Bristol, Cardiff, Liverpool and Manchester." read Tom. A moving image showed civilians walking out of blown up homes. Tom sighed, looking up from the paper.

He and Riddle were sitting outside, in the courtyard that he had met their first year. Riddle had grabbed him on the way to Potions, hastily shoving the copy of the Prophet into Tom's hands.

"Yes." Riddle tapped the paper. "Turn it over."

"More Wizards being confined to Nurmengard." Tom looked up, locking eyes with the other boy. "That's Gellert Grindelwald's prison."

"Right."

"It's only a matter of time before Grindelwald gets here and starts up his campaign." said Riddle. "We have got to be prepared."

"Remember what my guardian said? Leave it to the trained professionals?"

"We could be the trained professionals." said Riddle. "Start our own group."

"Group? What, like that little gle-"

"If you call it a glee club one more time Potter, I will hex you into the next century."

Tom sighed, folding the paper. "What group are you thinking of?"

"Like a brotherhood. Or a sect." He furrowed his eyes. "It has to have a significant name."

"I'm not coming up with anything." said Tom. The chime of a bell warned of the upcoming class, and he stood, preparing to leave.

Riddle likewise pulled himself from the stone bench.

"I'll think of something."

 

Tom had elected to take Care of Magical Creatures. The class was with Slytherin, so he found himself paired with Tom Riddle by way of Professor Kettleburn nearly every time. By this point, he was used it from his professors, so it no longer bothered him.

Tom had been looking forward to this class all summer after the excitement of the fairy fiasco last Christmas, and so far had not been disappointed. They had covered unicorns, harpies, and nifflers, and Tom had had the enjoyment of watching Riddle dodge a fire-crab.

That late November, the Professor led the students to a large corral, where several large horses stood idly grazing.

"Today, we will be studying Winged horses! Also known as pegasi." The Professor said to the excited third-years. "Pretty things aren't they? These specimens come from Greece."

A large palomino tossed its head, approaching the fence. Tom walked up it, excitedly.

"Much easier to manage than Hippogriffs, certainly less proud," the Professor rattled on, "But do be careful because they can-"

Tom felt the pinch of teeth in his shoulder.

"Bite." he wheezed, backing up.

"You alright Potter?" Kettleburn said. "Don't tell me you've lost a limb, or Dippet'll have my head."

"Yes sir. Just a nip." Tom backed away, the horse giving his shoulder another interested look.

"The trick is some whiskey in a bucket. There you go Mr. Lestrange, just like that."

The Slytherin boy walked up to a grey horse that had approached the gate, holding a bucket up to it. The horse dipped its head in the bucket and began to lap eagerly.

"Excellent! Now, each of you get in your pairs, grab a bucket, and pick a horse!"

Tom dutifully made his way over to Riddle, who had already grabbed a bucket. He was eyeing a coal-black mare.

"Big teeth," commented Tom, by way of conversation. "Watch your limbs."

"Right." said Riddle, stepping under the corral fence. Tom followed after him.

The black horse unfurled her large wings, and slowly approached, dipping her head into the grey pail Riddle held out to her.

"Bucket's much tastier than human flesh, huh girl?" commented Tom, reaching out to stroke her mane. She gave a slight shake of her head, but allowed the petting.

"Hold the bucket, Potter." Riddle said abruptly.

"Huh? Ok." the boy took the bucket, the horse's head shifting with the movement. She continued lapping into the pail.

Riddle then went to the horse's side. "There there." he said soothingly.

"Are you a horse whisperer?" joshed Tom, gripping the bucket as the horse began to lick at the bottom.

"Hardly." Riddle then extended his hand into the horse's black wing, and began to stroke it softly, caressing the midnight feathers.

"How are you boys doing over here?" Kettleburn hobbled over, dumping another bottle of whiskey into Tom's pail.

"That much whiskey, Professor?" Tom said in shock.

"Makes 'em easier to manage. They're big horses, Potter, they don't get a buzz off it like we do."

"Professor," interrupted Riddle. "How do you care for their wings?"

"Mm." the Professor walked to where Riddle was standing, the boy's hand still against a wing. "Well the horses do it mostly. Preen themselves. But on occasion, it's been known on racing teams to gently brush and spray their feathers to allow the vane to expand."

Kettleburn gave Riddle a once-over. "You planning on racing horses, Mr. Riddle?"

The boy removed his hand from the black wing. "No Professor."

Riddle then returned to Tom's side and helped him hold up the pail. It was in danger of spilling due to the horse's increased staggering.

 

"What are we doing for Christmas?" said Riddle, three days before the holiday.

"What are _we_ doing for Christmas?" Tom brought his head up in disbelief from where he had been observing the morning's snowfall, "Someone call the Prophet, we need a story on this historic day that Tom Riddle cared about what his brother was doing for Christmas."

Riddle thunked him on the head with a large grey book. Tom snatched it away, inspecting the title.

" _Most Macabre Monstrosities_? You are really are into this animal stuff."

"It's education, Potter," Riddle rolled his eyes, "Why do we go to this school, if not to learn?"

Tom opened the book where it had been tabbed open. "Hm, what are you are reading about?"

_Of the many fearsome beasts and monsters that roam our land, there is none more curious or more deadly than the Basilisk, known also as the King of Serpents._

"Recreational reading, Potter." Riddle said, snatching the book out of his hand.

"King of Serpents? Don't tell Kettleburn, or he'll get ideas."

"Ideas about what, Potter?" Riddle gave him an intense look.

"You didn't hear about The Fountain of Fair Fortune incident where his engorged Ashwinder exploded and started a fire? It's the reason they don't do plays at the school anymore."

Riddle relaxed then.

"Considering you have the tendency to break out into song, Potter, I can see why you'd be upset."

"I'm not the one running a glee-"

Tom Riddle shoved him into a snow drift.

 

"We're home!" said Tom, unslinging his bag. Riddle followed behind, likewise placing his bag next to the boy's in the hallway closet.

"Welcome back." his guardian said, wings unfolding in greeting. "And Mr. Riddle, good to you see you as well."

Riddle suddenly looked away. "Good to see you too, Mr. Potter."

_Mr. Potter? What happened to Harry?_

Tom didn't have time to ponder this over as the man made his way over, extending a pale hand over their heads. "Taller again. Soon you will be taller than me."

"You're just short." quipped Tom.

His guardian grumbled. "Not that short. You are all just very tall. Must be those Riddle genes."

Riddle gave a scowl. Tom cleared his throat, lest the other boy fly into a rage on their heritage, "How are things here?"

"Quiet. Considering there is a war going on, I almost expected more to happen."

"There hasn't been bombing in Suffolk, has there?" said Tom, worried.

"No, thankfully. They are starting to ration though, so I am afraid our dinner choices are going to be a bit limited. I hope you boys do not mind."

"It won't be a Hogwarts dinner, but we'll manage." said Tom.

"It is late enough. Help me set the table."

The boys bustled through the kitchen as his guardian lit a cheerful fire to warm the room. Tom set out the plates, while Riddle straightened the silverware.

His guardian deposited a basket of rolls, followed by several tins of fish. "Surely you are missing the Hogwarts feast now?"

"It's not even until Christmas Day, so we aren't missing out on anything." said Tom, pulling up a chair. Riddle likewise did so.

"True enough. We will try and do something a little more special on that day." The man brought out a candle and set it in the middle of the table, lighting the wick. "There we are. Just imagine it is floating."

The boys enjoyed the tinned fish and bread for dinner when Riddle interjected, "Mr. Potter?"

"Yes, Tom?"

He moved a spoon away from his tinned fish, to grab a slice of bread, "Why don't you eat?"

"I do not need to." the man moved a pale hand over to his water glass. "But I still enjoy liquids, so do not think I am missing out on all of life's pleasures."

At the word _pleasure_ , Riddle choked on the bread roll he was eating.

"You alright there, Tom?" said the other boy. Tom Riddle nodded, grabbing his glass of water and hastily swallowing it down.

They enjoyed treacle tart that evening, and while it was nowhere near as good as Hogwarts, it tasted homemade.

 

"Happy Christmas Tom!"

"I'm still asleep, Potter."

Tom leapt out of his bed, shaking the other boy awake. "Come on, it's Christmas morning, get up already!"

"Ugh..." Riddle rolled over in his bed.

"Don't you want to see what I got you?"

"Is it another stuffed animal?" came the voice muffled into the bed.

"No, so get up, lazy!" Tom whacked him with a pillow.

"When I get my hands on you Potter..."

"What, you'll hex me into the next century? At least they'll have good tv and denim jeans."

Riddle threw a pillow at Tom's head, and Tom dodged, sticking his tongue out. "Fast reflexes, or did you forget that, Riddle?"

"That's a pillow, not a spell, so don't cast a _Crucio_ at me." Riddle said, smirking. Tom gave him a mock horrified look.

"Excuse me, my Lord, I would never do that. I grovel before you, Heir of Slytherin!" Tom dramatically fell to his knees.

"My Lord?" Riddle had an eyebrow raised.

"Well you can be a lord, and I can be King." said Tom, pulling himself from the ground.

"King of what?"

"King of the world!" Tom threw his arms out to his sides, recreating a pose.

Riddle launched another pillow at his head.

"Breakfast is ready." came a voice from downstairs. Tom ran down the steps, Riddle in hot pursuit. The two paused in front of the handsomely set table.

"A full English breakfast?" Tom said, delighted.

"Yes." his guardian gave a rare smile. "Enjoy."

The two boys made short work of the breakfast. Tom then stood up, and ran back upstairs, while his guardian watched after him, a bemused look on his face. The boy stomped back down the stairs, thrusting a wrapped package into Riddle's arms.

"For you, Tom." he said, handing it to the boy. "Happy Christmas." Riddle unwrapped the package. In it was a book.

" _A Compendium of Common Curses and Their Counter-Actions_." Riddle read off the title.

Tom's guardian leaned over, looking at it. "That is a good book." he observed.

"You've read it?" said Tom excitedly.

"I know of it." the man replied. Riddle looked at Tom expectantly.

"Aren't you going to...?" he said, gesturing to the other seated man. Tom stared in confusion, until he gathered:

"Oh, we don't exchange presents. Just on my birthday. He never wants anything, so it was just easier if we didn't." explained Tom.

Riddle coloured then. "I..."

"Did you get us both something?" Tom said in eager anticipation.

Riddle shoved a package over to Tom. The boy ripped into it, unraveling:

" _Self-Defensive Spellwork_? Thanks Tom!"

"Another good book." commented his guardian.

Riddle was fidgeting now.

"Come on Tom," urged the other boy.

"For you." Riddle stammered, shoving a smaller parcel towards the winged man. The man took the package in his pale hands, and ripped it open, revealing:

" _Frankincense and Helichrysum Feather Spray_." The man dropped his hands, holding the bottle loosely between his pale fingers. "This was a thoughtful gift, Tom Riddle."

Riddle stared at the table, flustered.

 

"This is actually kind of neat we almost share a birthday."

The two boys were standing outside that dark, cold night, watching the falling snow from the garden. Tom's flowerbed was completely submerged in snow.

"Yes." said Riddle, looking up at the winter sky. He could make out the constellations Orion, Sirius, and Gemini.

"You turned fourteen today, and in less than one minute, I'll be the same age too."

"It will also be the new year." commented Riddle, a snowflake landing on his nose.

"In with the new, out with the old." Tom replied, "Three...two..one...Happy New Year!"

The boys heard the opening of the garden door, and both of them faced to the approaching man.

"Happy New Year!" crowed Tom. "And a Happy Birthday to us!"

"Which reminds me," the man said, drawing two parcels from underneath his arm, wings shifting at the movement, "I was waiting for midnight. Happy Birthday to you both."

Tom Riddle flushed, but Tom happily grabbed for his package, pushing the other in the boy's arms. "Let's open it, together!"

Riddle nodded, still looking in disbelief at the package in his hands.

"You've never received a present for your birthday?" said Tom's guardian softly.

Riddle flinched, holding the package close to his chest. Tom scowled at his guardian.

"You shouldn't do that!" he said, defensively, "Reading people's thoughts is rude!"

"I cannot read thoughts," the man turned his head to the side, giving them a neutral look, "I can only sense sentiment."

"What does that mean?" said Tom crossly.

"Emotions. Confusion, sadness, desire..." the man replied.

"Let's open the packages." said Riddle suddenly.

Tom gave his guardian a huff, but opened the package, to reveal... "A jumper!"

Riddle was holding his out as well, a pine green. "This is..." he looked for a tag. "Handmade?"

"You sew?" said Tom, holding his own scarlet jumper out for inspection.

The man shook his head. "I had them made. There is a woman who knits in our neighbourhood, when she is not writing."

"Well, let her know she did a great job." said Tom, shrugging his scarlet jumper on. "Nice and warm!"

"I will mention it to Miss Bagshot." his guardian replied.

 

"The Goblin Rebellions were most noted in the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries. The goblins' complaint against wizardry was the discrimination and prejudice faced by their kind. Also of note was the wand legislation that directly contributed to the Goblin revolts..."

 _Blah, blah, blah._ thought Tom, boredly staring out the window.

Professor Binns, an elderly man with a voice that could put a Sphinx to sleep, was perhaps the least favourite of Tom's classes. Tom mentioned this to Riddle as soon as he saw him the next morning on the way to breakfast.

"How is that? You like history?" said Riddle, as they walked together towards the Great Hall.

"I know, but he is so dry." Tom said.

Riddle shrugged. "He's informative."

Tom paused then, in front of a poster that was displayed next the Great Hall's door. "They're still keeping off the Hogsmeade weekends?"

"Yes." Riddle tapped the poster's picture, which frowned at him sternly. "They're afraid of the air raids."

"They'll never come up here, it's too far away." Tom grumbled. He had been looking forward to Hogsmeade ever since his guardian had brought it up an incentive for his third year. The boy had been incredibly disappointed.

"When the war's over, it'll end." said Riddle.

"Speaking of the war, have you read anything in the news about Grindelwald lately?"

"Nothing new." said Riddle. "Nobody seems to really know where he is. Sometimes they say Albania, other times Bulgaria. Whatever he's doing, he's got them all running circles."

"Shame we're not old enough to catch him ourselves. I'd like to travel." Tom said.

"Where would you go, if you wanted to catch Grindelwald?" said Riddle, as they stepped in the hall together.

"Probably Bulgaria, I'd love to see the pre-slavic architecture and Thracian artifacts."

"Albania sounds more interesting." mused Riddle.

A sudden flush of wings had the boys ducking, as moths with orange glowing wings flew directly at them, swirling over their heads in a frenzy.

"Kettleburn's at it again!" cried Tom, as a moth swooped close to his ears.

"No, it's that oaf." scowled Riddle, smacking a moth away.

Tom didn't have a second to ask who when-

"Oh don' hurt 'em, they don't mean no harm." said a tall first-year boy, anxiously blocking Riddle from swiping at another moth. The students at the nearby Hufflepuff table broke into laughs when the insects began to descend on their heated breakfast plates.

"Hagrid." Riddle said with a disgusted look.

"Where did you get the moths, Rubeus?" said Tom.

"Bred 'em myself. " the boy said proudly. "Found 'em near the Forbidden Forest."

"You're not supposed to go in there." said Tom anxiously.

"Didn't go in!" the boy said, now edging over to the Hufflepuff table as to scoop up the moths, "Jus' near it."

"I bet he did." Riddle grumbled, shooting him a dark look as he made his way to the Slytherin table.

  
Tom met Myrtle Warren outside of the Ravenclaw dorms. He was dressed in his Gryffindor best, a bright red and gold scarf around his neck and holding an equally obnoxious lion pennant. "You ready for the big game?"

Myrtle shrugged. "You're obsessed, Potter."

Tom had a reason to be excited. For the first time this year, Gryffindor had the potential to not only win the House Cup, but the Quidditch Cup. They would be playing Hufflepuff, whose team had flattened Slytherin in an upset at the previous match.

The two made their way down the steps leaving from Ravenclaw tower, walking alongside each other until they were outside the castle. "Is your brother cheering for Gryffindor then?" Myrtle asked, looking over her shoulder as if to summon the boy.

"He doesn't really care about Quidditch. The only time he bothers is if Slytherin's playing."

The two walked in silence, until Myrtle spoke up again.

"The other girls in the dorm are always gossiping about him." she remarked.

"About Tom? What are they saying?"

"Well, Marla Whitby's hoping he'll ask her out to the next Hogsmeade weekend."

"She'll be waiting until the end of the war then." Tom shrugged. Myrtle however, had paused.

"Is your brother seeing anybody...?" she asked.

"What, like a girlfriend?"

Myrtle tugged on her robes, not looking at Tom. He sighed.

"I don't think he's into that type of stuff. He's more into spells and books. Why do you ask?"

"No reason." she stammered, "Let's get to the game."

 

Happily, Gryffindor won both the Quidditch and House Cup that year, and Tom got to rub it in Riddle's face as soon as they met up on the Platform.

"Sure is nice to be a champion." bragged Tom, as Tom Riddle walked off the Slytherin compartment.

"You personally didn't win it." Riddle said dismissively. He looked over to his left, near the exit of the compartment, where a small group was forming.

"Hold on a moment, Potter." he said, striding over to the small assembly.

"Alright." Tom said, walking to go sit underneath a large clock in the centre of the platform. As he sat, he observed Riddle talking to a group of assembled boys.

 _Lestrange, Avery, Rosier, Mulciber, Nott, and Dolohov._ he identified. Riddle's club.

"Did you ever come up with a name?" said Tom, as Riddle re-approached him.

"Knights of Walpurgis." replied Riddle. Tom scrutinized him.

"Surely you are not referring to the pagan holiday of witches and demons?"

Riddle gave him a cool look. "And if I was?"

Tom got up, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. "Not sure what kind of message you're trying to send naming yourselves after revels involving the Devil."

"Plenty of organized groups are named after fierce figures in history. There's the Death or Glory Boys, the Devil's Own, the Bloodsuckers, the Slashers..."

"Muggle units, Tom?" teased the boy.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "It's good to be aware, Potter."

 

"Gryffindor won the Quidditch and House Cup!" crowed Tom, as he and Riddle strode into 13 Lavenham place, waving his lion pennant. Riddle threw him a disparaging look.

"Congratulations." his guardian said, seated at the table in the kitchen. He had a copy of the Prophet in his pale hands, and a steaming mug of tea set in front of him. "You enjoy Quidditch?"

"He's only into it because he can hang out with his girlfriend, Warren." Riddle answered.

"Myrtle's not my girlfriend, she's my friend...who's a girl." Tom replied, sitting down at the table. Riddle sat as well.

"Myrtle Warren." echoed his guardian, shuffling his paper, and folding it over. "What is she like?"

"She's not too bad." Tom said, "I'll admit she can be a bit of complainer. Half the time I hear about Olive Hornby. Other times she's talking about you, Riddle."

"What?" Tom Riddle gave a disgusted look, "What could that filthy little Mudbloo-"

CRACK.

"Whoah, your tea!" said Tom, jumping out of his seat as his guardian’s hot tea spilled all over the table. The mug was now broken, having split in half.

"I will clean it." his guardian said stiffly, rising from his chair.

"It just cracked clean open." Tom said, poking at a shard.

"Let us talk more about Quidditch." said the man, returning with a hand towel and mopping up the liquid that had spilled, "What position do you like?"

"Well, I like the Chasers. They get to make all the scores. I suppose the seeker's important to the game, since they pretty much determine the outcome."

"Seeker's an overrated position." Riddle commented.

"Is that so?" the neon and black eyes focused on the boy, "Why?"

"Because you practically win every game if you get the snitch. Why play any other position? "

"Not all the time." the man said, tossing the towel into the sink. "The Quidditch World Cup of Ireland versus Bulgaria had Ireland winning 170-160 even though Bulgaria caught the snitch."

"When was this?" Riddle said, "They haven't played each other in a World Cup."

"Some time from now." the man said noncommittally, returning to the paper.

 

** Sources: **

_Ascendio:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Ascendio>

_Harry corrects Riddle's posture_ : Inspired by scene in the film _Avatar_ (2009)

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVNGUsdhYTE&t=0m13s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AVNGUsdhYTE&t=0m13s)

_Harry flies_ : Inspired by scene in the film _Maleficent_ (2014)

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zN4I0PWj7OI>

_"Massive German air raids on London, Southampton, Bristol, Cardiff, Liverpool and Manchester."_

<http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/timeline/children-shelter.htm>

_Winged Horses:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Winged_horse>

_Olive Hornby:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Olive_Hornby>

Nurmengard

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Nurmengard>

_Nifflers:_

<https://www.pottermore.com/explore-the-story/nifflers>

_Fire Crabs:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Fire_crab>

_Most Macabre Monstrosities, Basilisk:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Most_Macabre_Monstrosities>

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Basilisk>

_"You didn't hear about The Fountain of Fair Fortune incident where his engorged Ashwinder exploded and started a fire? It's the reason they don't do plays at the school anymore."_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/The_Fountain_of_Fair_Fortune>

_"I'm the King of the World!" from the film Titanic, (1997)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ItjXTieWKyI>

_Books:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/A_Compendium_of_Common_Curses_and_Their_Counter-Actions>

_Feather Spray:_

<http://www.liveoakacupuncture.com/parrots-essential-oils/>

_Jumpers:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Weasley_jumper>

_Miss Bagshot_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Bathilda_Bagshot>

_Goblin Rebellions:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Goblin_Rebellions>

_"Nobody seems to really know where he is. Sometimes they say Albania, other times Bulgaria. Whatever's he's doing, he's got them all running circles."_

[https://books.google.com/books?id=ozg8AAAAIAAJ&lpg=PA78&ots=ALIE2cX581&dq=hitler%20moves%20albania%20bulgaria&pg=PA78#v=onepage&q=hitler%20moves%20albania%20bulgaria&f=false](https://books.google.com/books?id=ozg8AAAAIAAJ&lpg=PA78&ots=ALIE2cX581&dq=hitler%20moves%20albania%20bulgaria&pg=PA78#v=onepage&q=hitler%20moves%20albania%20bulgaria&f=false)

_Bulgaria:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bulgaria>

_Albania:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Albania>

_Moths:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Flitterby>

_"I'll think of something." Walpurgis Night:_

<http://harrypotterfanon.wikia.com/wiki/Knights_of_Walpurgis>

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Walpurgis_Night>

_"Muggle units, Tom?"_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/List_of_nicknames_of_British_Army_regiments>

_1994 Quidditch World Cup:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/1994_Quidditch_World_Cup>

 


	7. Chapter 7

" _Quidditch through the Ages_." Tom said, happily inspecting the book.

"Yes," his guardian replied. The three were in eldest man's room, when he had invited them upstairs after a lunch of steak and kidney pie. Riddle had hesitated at the black door.

"What, there's no ghosts," Tom had said, following in after his guardian

"None that you can see." muttered Riddle, eyes trained on the man's wings.

The man paced around the room, inspecting the books that were strewn about on the floor. "You already have _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find them,_ so there is no point in giving you a copy of that."

Riddle picked up a fallen book. " _Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimency._ "

Tom whistled, "That's tough stuff, Riddle, Counter Legilimency?"

Riddle flicked his eyes to the winged man, who was bent over another book, "It would be a good investment."

"You will need this one." Tom got a book, _The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 4._ Riddle was handed _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection._

"You will each have to buy yourselves the other copy, unless you want to share." the man said.

"I'd like to go to Diagon Alley a bit earlier this year anyway." said Tom.

"Why?" said Riddle, curious.

"I want to look at brooms."

 

They decided to go a week prior to school. For the cab ride, Tom's guardian had dressed in a long, black coat and a silver tie, and the boys were dressed in simple khakis and polo shirts.

"I hate this." Riddle grumbled.

"You look sharp, Riddle!" Tom said, admiring his own maroon polo.

"You say that because I look like you." Riddle remarked.

"The cab should be here shortly. You boys have everything you need?" the man asked, slipping on his glasses. The eyes shifted from black to white, the neon subduing to jade.

"Yep, everything but the stove."

The man nodded, turning to leave the home. In his haste, the hallway urn was knocked over with his great wings as he approached the front door.

"Forgetting something?" teased Tom.

"Sometimes I forget I even have them." the man said, jade eyes creasing. He gave a shake of his wings, and they vanished.

Riddle picked up the fallen urn, giving it a cursory inspection. " _Toujours pur."_ he read at the bottom.

The man stepped over, taking the urn back. "An heirloom." He placed it back on the table, ensuring it was perfectly centred.

"Family or friends of yours?" asked Riddle, curiously.

A pause. "It is all relative."

 

"Will you be hot with your coat, Mr. Potter?" said Riddle, as they stepped out from the cab into the bright of the summer sun.

"I do not feel temperature as you do."

"He used to sit in the snow in a waistcoat, Tom," said the other boy, hoisting his bag over his shoulder.

"A waistcoat?" Riddle was looking at Tom's guardian fixedly.

"A phase." The man paid the driver, and the three walked together through the busy streets of London until they reached the Leaky Cauldron.

As they entered, Tom's eyes flicked to the many posters littered around the bar. Some of them were advertising brands of beer, others were notices of sale: one witch was advertising the sale of kneazle kittens, and Tom observed the picture of them attacking each other.

But his eyes drew onto a specific poster that was placed in a position of honour on the centre wall of the pub.

'MINISTRY OF MAGIC PUBLIC NOTICE'

A small logo for the Ministry was embossed at the bottom, flashing in enchanted bronze lettering. Tom stepped closer.

'DO YOU HAVE THE SKILLS NEEDED TO COMBAT PRACTICIONERS OF THE DARK ARTS? PREPARED TO JOIN THE FIGHT?

In the centre of the poster, an enchanted picture of an eye stared out sightlessly, only occasionally darting to look off at the side. A small block of text read underneath:

'PEOPLE JOIN US NOT BECAUSE WE ARE DIFFERENT, BUT BECAUSE THEY ARE.'

'RECRUITING AURORS'

"What is that you are looking at, Tom?" came the voice of his guardian. He had his briefcase and room key held in his hand, having paid for their lodging.

"Recruiting for the Aurors." said the boy, looking towards the man. His guardian gave a wistful look towards the poster.

"I wanted to be an Auror." he said, green eyes scanning the bottom half of the flyer. "It had been recommended to me as a career choice."

"Really?" Tom looked back at the poster, in renewed interest, "Professor Merrythought said I might make a good Auror."

"Is that something you would want to do?" said his guardian, curious.

"Maybe. It wouldn't be a bad choice for a job. Could be something meaningful." the boy replied.

"I can think of nothing with lesser meaning," the man said, putting a companionable hand on the boy's shoulder. Tom gave him a warm smile, feeling a sense of mutual kinship.

Riddle came back from the bar, where he had a mug of butterbeer grasped in his hand.

"Where did you get that?" said Tom, eyes widening.

"A witch bought it for me." the boy replied smoothly. Tom's guardian's scowled.

"You might be charming women at the bar, Tom Riddle, but as the responsible adult, I cannot allow an underage minor to be consuming alcohol."

"You're not my father." said the boy flatly, holding the mug away.

Tom's guardian rolled his eyes. "Do not be difficult." He reached over, but the boy held it aloft.

"It's mine." he said defensively.

"It is gone is what it is." the man said. He reached over Riddle's shoulder, as the boy held it away. "Hand it over."

Riddle's face did an interesting morph of emotions, Tom mused. He had gone from a defensive to an almost...sly expression?

"You'll have to take it from me." the boy said.

The man dipped his head until he was mere inches away from Riddle's face. The younger let out an audible intake of breath.

"Give it. To me." the man said, a low growl emitting from his throat. Riddle's mouth was half- open.

"You...don't breathe." said Riddle, eyes flicking to the other's mouth.

"No." the man replied. His hand shot out faster than Tom could blink, and suddenly the beer mug was in his hand. The green eyes gave Riddle a severe look, and he stepped back, holding the glass close lest the boy snatch it back.

"Now that that's over," Tom said, poking his guardian's shoulder, "Give it to me."

 

"The comet 220." Tom whistled. "Now that's a broom."

He and Riddle were standing outside the broomstick shop of Diagon Alley, where they had completed their textbook shopping. Tom's guardian had opted to remain at the Leaky Cauldron, so the boys had paired off together to explore.

"You are planning on playing Quidditch?" remarked Riddle, sizing up the other boy.

"No." said Tom. "I like watching it, I like reading about it, but it's not what I want to do," he tapped the glass with his fingers, sighing wistfully, "I just want to fly."

Riddle looked at the broom. "Fly. " he echoed. The two boys began to walk back to the pub. But then Riddle suddenly stopped, looking at a half-bent sign posted on an alleyway that ducked off from the rest.

"Knockturn Alley," read Tom, from behind him, "I hear there's vampires that hang out in there."

"Let's check it out." said Riddle, striding up to the sign. He gave it a cursory look, then turned back to the other boy expectantly.

"Vampires, Tom. I'm not sure I really want to go in there." said Tom, stepping back and forth.

Riddle rolled his eyes. "They'll take one look at you Potter and decide you're not worth the effort."

"It's because I look like you, right?"

"Who says it has anything to do with looks?" Riddle remarked.

Tom scowled but followed after Riddle until they had reached a centre point in the alley. There were several shops that lined their path, each more progressively dismal than the last. Some had what looked like dismembered human heads in the windows, others displayed floating, black daggers with green runes etched in their blades.

A gaunt witch with far too many wrinkles approached them from one said shop, showing off an assortment of what looked like ears strung on a stick.

"Troll ears, a bargain." she said, waving it at them with a leer.

"No thanks." Tom swallowed, stepping close to Riddle. The other boy was assessing a dark shop labeled Borgin and Burkes that laid across from where they were standing.

"I'm going in there." he said, as Tom bumped into him.

"Tom, that place looks...disreputable." the other said, still eyeing the gaunt witch.

"Big word, Potter." the grey eyes sized him up, looking dismissive. "I'll be back if you're too scared." Riddle did not wait for a reply, instead striding into Borgin and Burkes, leaving Tom alone with the witch.

"You are impossible." grumbled Tom, but he followed the other boy into the store, lest he be alone with the woman.

Upon entering, Tom observed evil-looking masks hung on the walls, and what looked like an assortment of human bones stacked on a table. Rusty, spiked instruments hung from the ceiling, traces of what looked like old blood still splattered along their blades. 

They were not the only ones in the shop, however. A dark haired man behind the shop's counter was in the middle of an intense debate with a well-dressed, blonde haired man. As the boys drew closer, their conversation became more audible. Tom noticed they were gesturing over what looked like a necklace.

"This jewelry ain't worth that much, Mr. Malfoy."

"It has claimed the lives of nineteen Muggle owners, Caractacus. I assure you, it is worth far more than you assume it does. Its spell power alone-"

"It's opal." The man did not touch the necklace, but waved a long, gnarled finger over it from where it sat on the counter. "If it was diamonds or even rubies, I could get a much higher bid for it."

"What does it do?" Tom Riddle said as he approached the counter, interrupting the conversation. Caractcus scrutinized him.

"A boy? Where are your parents?"

"Dead if you must know," Riddle replied coolly, "What does the necklace do?"

"It is cursed," said the blonde man, blue eyes still trained on Caractacus, "If it makes physical contact it will cause such pain that its victim would be helpless to move. "

"Would they die?" Riddle said, eyes focused on the glinting opals.

"If an appropriate counter-curse is not administered..." the blonde man made the universal sign of throat-slitting.

"I see." observed Riddle. "How much do you want for it?"

"275 galleons." said the blonde-haired man. Caractcus scowled.

"I'll give you 95 galleons for it, Abraxas, and that's under the assumption it sells."

"I'll buy it." Riddle said suddenly.

"What?" Caractcus said in disbelief, "You can't afford that."

"I can get a loan." Riddle replied; eyes trained on the necklace.

"A teenager with a cursed necklace, you planning on giving it to someone, boy?" said Caractcus.

"It is worth far more than you or Mr. Malfoy assume, Mr-" Riddle turned his grey eyes upwards.

"Burke. Caractcus Burke."

"Mr. Burke. This necklace has the power by simply alighting on someone's throat to send them into an agonized state, causing eventual death. Furthermore, while it is not diamonds or rubies, it is common enough that someone would actually put it on. Therefore, its value _increases_ because of the likelihood of it being employed, which makes it an effective weapon."

Caractcus blinked.

"Basically it's only good if someone wears it." said Tom, giving the necklace another glance.

"Would you be willing to sell it to me, Mr. Malfoy?" said Riddle.

Malfoy opened his mouth, but Burke waved a hand.

"You couldn't buy it if you wanted to boy, so I'll save you the trouble. 189 galleons, Mr. Malfoy, and that's my final offer."

Malfoy's blue eyes looked at Tom Riddle for the briefest of moments, then back to Burke.

"I accept that offer, Caractcus." he said smoothly. The man turned back to Riddle. "I apologize, but I am afraid I am not allowed to sell to underage wizards."

"It is not a problem, Mr. Malfoy," Riddle said deferentially, "If I want it in the future, I'll know where to go."

Malfoy gave him an approving look. Caractcus carefully levitated the necklace with his wand onto a display behind him, shutting a glass case around it.

"I'll send the paperwork to Malfoy Manor, Abraxas, and your galleons will be wired to your account."

"Thank you, Caractcus." the man said, only dipping down to retrieve a walking stick that had been leaning against the counter.

The man gave a grunt, and walked back into the depths of the shop, disappearing behind a blue curtain that marked the backroom. The blonde-haired man looked over the boys.

"Would you have the time to accompany me out, Mr...?"

"Riddle."

"Mr. Riddle. And this is-?"

"Potter. I'm his brother."

The boys followed the man out of the shop. He turned to them as soon as they were in the alleyway once more.

"I wanted to thank you, Mr. Riddle. To be frank, I did not expect an amount over 130. You have done me a favour, and as such, I am in your debt."

"I am happy to help alumni of Slytherin." said Riddle. Tom blinked.

"Ah, I see you noticed my walking stick." the man said, bending it forward for the boys' inspection. A silver headed snake with emerald eyes bore small, pointed fangs out.

"You have a careful eye for detail, Mr. Riddle. Doubtless this talent serves you well. Should you ever need it, the Malfoy house would be honoured to assist you in any future endeavours you may have outside of Hogwarts."

Riddle gave him a polite bow. "I'll remember that, Mr. Malfoy."

 

" _Muggle studies?_ " said Riddle incredulously.

"Your point?" Tom said.

The boys had met after their first day of classes to compare each other’s notes. As electives, Tom Riddle had taken Care of Magical Creatures and Divination. Tom Potter had taken Magical Creatures and Muggle studies.

"What a worthless class that must be." said Riddle derisively.

"For your information, it's interesting." said Tom.

"Please enlighten me about how learning about _Muggles_ is interesting."

"Well, for starters, there's a war going on. Which, as you might be aware, involves Muggles."

"The only real threat is Grindelwald."  Riddle said, crossing his arms.

"I think plenty of people would argue that the equivalent threat to Grindelwald is Adolf Hitler."

"He's just a mad Muggle. He has no real power."

"I think a considerable amount of people would disagree with you," replied Tom, closing his notebook.

"They are less than us," Riddle continued, "They have no magic abilities. "

"And they're able to fly planes, drive cars, conduct electricity, and eventually invent colour television," Tom said, interlocking his fingers together, "Not to mention modern medicine like heart surgery and inoculation against diseases."

"And they persecute us," Riddle said, "Call us freaks."

"Who's called you a freak?" Tom said, curious.

"At the orphanage." Riddle frowned, staring at the floor.

"You haven't been back there in ages."

"Nor am I planning on it." he said, grey eyes locked on the interlocking stone.

"They fear what they don't understand." Tom said in closing, shifting to pick up his book bag to return to the Gryffindor dorms. "Historically, witchcraft was always associated with the darker aspects, like human sacrifice and drinking blood."

"Who would drink blood?" Riddle scoffed, likewise standing up. "Unless you were a vampire?"

"Blood can be seen as a conduit," Tom said thoughtfully, shouldering his bag. "By consuming it, you are taking someone's lifeforce to extend your own."

"Extend your lifeforce?" Riddle said.

"Well, vampires live forever, right?" Tom shrugged. "Why else would they do it?"

"To achieve immortality," mused Riddle.

"Don't tell me you're planning on becoming a vampire, Tom." the other boy said in disbelief.

"Of course not, Potter. Who would want to be limited by drinking blood?"

"I guess a freak would." said Tom. Riddle scowled, shouldering his bag.

"I'll see you later." he said curtly.

"Right." Tom said, watching the other boy stalk off.

 

Tom was in the library with Myrtle Warren. The girl had been struggling in Potions, and Tom had decided to help her study, reminiscing on his own early struggles.

"Now," the boy said, tapping her Potions book, "you should have learned this your first year, but let's refresh our memory. What is a bezoar?"

"From a goat."

"Right. What does it do?"

"Something to do with poison...."

"It's an antidote." Tom said, flipping over to the next page of the tome, "And how do you administer it to a victim of poisoning?"

"Just shove it down their throat?" the girl replied, eyes focused on his long fingers.

"I suppose that's a way to do it," said Tom, quickly moving his fingers off the page.

The girl gave a wistful sigh, then returned to scribbling down more notes. Tom felt his eyes begin the wander the library. There were not many people in it that day, so in the quiet, the scratching of the quill was rather audible.

He stretched in his seat, feeling the pang of soreness in his spine. This was due to having sat for the last hour with Myrtle hunched over her book.

"Hey, I'm going to stretch my legs." Tom said to her, after a stab of pain ran down his lower back.

"Don't be too long." she said, eyes focusing on his face.

"Uh...ok Myrtle."

Tom rose up and began to walk the length of the library. His eyes took in the large stacks of tomes divide into sections, reading off their titles as he walked by:

"Invisibility Section... Dragon Section...Reference Section....Legal Section." he muttered to himself. As he finally passed the legal section, back finally unkinking itself, the boy approached what looked like a roped off area.

"The Restricted section." he read, from a signpost that stood next to the rope. Tom let his eyes wander into the darker area.

There were all sorts of books, some with chains, some with visible spikes, some with peculiar splotches. Tom felt in a strange way that the books were watching him. He shifted his gaze away from them, letting his eyes wander down to the assorted benches in the middle of the room.

He saw a familiar figure.

"Tom!" the boy exclaimed.

Riddle, who was sitting on a bench over a dark book, pretended not to hear him.

"What are you doing in there?" hissed the other boy, shooting a nervous look over to where the librarian's desk was. Amazingly, the woman was not there.

Riddle continued to ignore him, engrossed in his tome. There were scattered papers on the table.

"Are you kidding me, Tom Riddle?" The boy said again, shifting from foot to foot, worryingly. "You should not be here."

The boy finally lifted his grey eyes to Tom's own. He had a look of annoyance on his face.

"Shove off, Potter." he said in a cold tone.

"What are you on about?" Tom said, feeling hurt.

"None of your business." The boy returned to his book.

Tom scowled. "I'm your brother, it's my business."

"Just because you are related to me, that does not give you the right to anything." Riddle sniffed.

"What is your problem!?"

"You." Riddle snapped. "Now shove off." Tom balled his fists in anger. Riddle returned to his book.

The boy then shot a helpless look to the librarian's desk, willing her to be there. Miraculously this was still not the case.

He then decided to take matters into his own hands. With an inhale of breath, the boy ducked under the rope, and then paced forward to where Riddle was reading.

"What did I do to you?" Tom said, waving his hand in front of Riddle. The grey eyed boy snapped a hand out to where it was dancing in front of his face.

"This does not concern you, Potter." he said warningly, giving Tom's wrist a squeeze.

"You answer me Tom Riddle!" the boy said in clear distress.

Riddle gave a scowl, then released his wrist. "Go away."

Tom was having none of that. He grabbed the side of the book, and flipped it over, inspecting the title.

" _Secrets of the Darkest Art_?!" he said, confused. "What for?"

"For Grindelwald," Riddle said suddenly.

"Oh. You are trying to read up on how to stop him."

"Sure." said Riddle, placing a hand on the tome where it was upturned against the table, holding it face down.

"Why were you being so rude then?"

"I'm studying Potter. Some of us do that in a library." he said dismissively.

Tom scowled. "Well, you shouldn't be in here anyway. It's the _Restricted_ section, not the _Unrestricted_ section."

"Excuse me, Saint Potter." Riddle rose from his table, shutting the book. He made to go put it back on the shelf, giving it a small shove in between the many books stacked on the shelves. The boy then grabbed the pile of haphazard notes that were strewn about the table, pocketing them in his robes.

"It's for your own good," said Tom defensively, as the two boys walked out of the ropeway.

"Don't you mean, _for the greater good_?" said Riddle with a side-look towards the other boy.

"And they call _me_ the disciple of Grindelwald." replied Tom, rolling his eyes.

 

"MUDBLOODS." was written one morning as Tom was on his way to Potions, on one of the hallway corridors. Rancorous Carpe, the current caretaker, was trying to scrub the lettering off the walls from on top of a ladder.

"Bloody kids," the man complained, vigorously scrubbing, "Don't know what's worse, Peeves or them."

Tom stared at the wall, an itch of a memory tugging at his brain. Where had he seen that word before?

"Upsetting, Potter?" a voice taunted from behind him.

Tom turned to face a girl in Slytherin robes, with blonde hair framing her small face. Grey eyes stared at him, as if expecting a reaction.

"You're..." he scrunched his nose, trying to remember.

"Black." said the girl, tossing her hair over her shoulder carelessly, "Walburga Black."

"Right."

"I heard you were a Muggle." she said, giving him an appraising look.

"What's wrong with that?" he said, feeling a familiar irritation crawling up his spine.

Her eyes became half-lidded, showing a clear dislike. "Nothing, unless you are content with having dirty blood running through your veins."

Tom balled his fists. "Is that what Mudblood means? Did you write that?"

"Of course not, Potter. I don't need to write on walls to prove something that is a fact." she stepped away then. "I'd watch out if I were you."

"For what?"

But Tom didn't get his answer. The school poltergeist had taken the opportunity to accost the distracted caretaker. The ghost had a vat of used bathwater over his head, and, with a jeer, sent it flying towards them. It missed soaking the girl and boy, but not-

"PEEEVES!" roared Carpe, drenched. He leapt off the ladder, shooting spell after spell, chasing after the cackling poltergeist, who flew down the hallway. The sound of the caretaker's curses and maniacal laughter of Peeves echoed the halls.

Tom brushed the front of his Gryffindor robes, watching the man run after the ghost. After he could no longer see neither Carpe nor Peeves, he then turned back to the girl, ready to promptly tell her off.

But Tom Potter found himself alone in the hallway.

 

"What do you want for your birthday?"

"Hm?" Tom said, sleepily.

His guardian returned to the table. It was the winter holidays again, and both he and Riddle were once again at 13 Lavenham place.

Tom had had a restless night the previous evening. He had woken up at four in the morning, unable to effectively sleep, murky dreams plaguing him. The boy had wandered down to the kitchen, deciding to sit for a while to clear his thoughts. His guardian had eventually come down from his room. Riddle was still upstairs sleeping.

 _Which was a shame, because tonight was Christmas Eve._ thought Tom. He wanted to go to the Midnight Mass at St. Jerome's Church. _I'll never keep awake for it._

"Can't you just read my mind?" he yawned.

"No." said his guardian.

"I guess a broom would be nice..." he plopped his head down on the table, curling his arms around his face as to rest. “Whatever you think is best."

"Hm."

Tom dozed off for a while on the table, only waking when he heard another set of footsteps approaching into the kitchen.

"Tom. Harry." said the voice.

 _We're back to Harry again_. Tom thought sleepily, burrowing his face further in his arms.

"Tom Riddle." came the flat voice. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes." Tom did not open his eyes, but he could sense Riddle sit down next to him. "Thank you for asking. Did you sleep well yourself?"

"It is not a requirement for me."

"Is that so?" Tom heard Riddle say, sensing him shift in suppressed interest.

"Tom Riddle, what would you like for your birthday?" said his guardian.

"There is nothing I need," the boy said politely, "the courtesy of staying in your home is more than enough."

Tom cracked a bleary eye open. That was especially polite for Tom Riddle. He observed his guardian shift in his own seat.

"Surely there must be something." the man insisted. Tom rolled an eye over to Riddle. The other boy stared at the table, as if in deep thought.

"One of your feathers." said Riddle finally.

"One of my feathers?" his guardian repeated.

"I could use it."

"For what?"

"Feathers can be used in Potions ingredients," the boy replied, grey eyes still locked on the table, "I imagine yours have strong magical qualities."

 _Of course he's going to ask for something that has to do with school,_ thought Tom.

"I see." the man replied.

Tom closed his eyes again, feeling himself doze off. The only sound he recalled hearing before he fell completely unconscious was the soft footsteps of his guardian stepping out from the room.

 

Tom did not make that year's Midnight mass. Instead, he found himself waking at half-past ten Christmas morning. He let out an audible yawn.

_Well, at least I feel better._

He reached under his bed, feeling for a parcel he had tucked underneath. After a few minutes of feeling around, his long fingers grasped its target.

"There we are." he said, dragging the package up for his inspection. The boy hopped out of bed, casting a look over to where Riddle normally slept.

The other boy was not in his bed, but that was unsurprising. Tom had slept fairly late that day. _Usually it's me waking him up Christmas morning._

He made his way down the stairs. His guardian was not there, but Tom Riddle was sitting at the table, munching on what looked like some type of breakfast bread.

"I see you have finally joined us in the land of the living, Potter." said Riddle, carefully applying butter to his sliced bread.

"Where'd he go?" said Tom, looking for his guardian.

"He's out in the garden. I told him not to bother waiting for you, since we're not exchanging gifts this year."

"About that." Tom said, shifting the parcel out from under his arm to extend it to Riddle. "For you."

"What?" Riddle exclaimed, grey eyes darting from the package to Tom's own. "Potter, you said-"

"I know what I said." the other boy replied, rolling his eyes. "I think the correct response is, _thank you_." Riddle took the package in his long hands, eyeing it. "It looks like a book."

"Open it, Riddle." Tom said, sitting down and helping himself to the breakfast bread.

"Good morning," came the cool voice of his guardian, as he walked in from the outside snow. "Did you sleep well?"

"Much better than yesterday."

"I see." said his guardian. He then looked at Riddle, who was still holding the wrapped parcel in his hands. "I sense confusion from you."

Tom shot his guardian a dark look. The man nonchalantly sat the table.

"Open it." urged Tom.

Riddle then carefully peeled back the layers of brown wrapping, pulling out-

"Is this... a diary?" said Riddle, looking at the small black book in his hands. He flipped it over, looking at the back print. " _Tom Marvolo Riddle."_ he read.

"Great, huh?" said Tom. "I ordered it custom. It's Muggle-made, but you know, they do make handsome journals in this time. I figured since you are always taking notes it would be a good way to organize your thoughts."

His guardian suddenly shot up from the table. Bright electric eyes locked on the black book, wings half-spread out, fanning the air in agitation.

 _He looks like he's seen a ghost._ thought Tom.

"I am going out." the man said abruptly.

"Out?" said Tom in confusion, "But it's Christmas morning."

"Out." the man repeated, not hearing him. Without another response, he strode out from kitchen. The only noise the two boys heard was the slam of the front door behind him.

"For someone who doesn't need to sleep, he sure is grumpy." muttered Tom.

 

"Wake up, Tom Riddle, it's the New Year, and my birthday! Fifteen years today!"

"One of these days I am going to kill you." said the other boy, grabbing his pillow and throwing it over his head.

"Up!" Tom demanded, whacking him across the back with his own pillow.

"Fine, Potter, stop hitting me!" groused Riddle, pushing himself up from the bed.

The two boys made their way down the stairs, where Tom's guardian sat patiently waiting for them at the kitchen table.

"A Happy Birthday to you both."

"It's not _his_ birthday," Tom pointed out, "That was yesterday."

"It is close enough." the man said, gesturing to the table. An unwrapped, shiny new-

"BROOMSTICK!" crowed Tom, dashing forward and taking it from where it laid on the table. The teenager inspected it thoroughly, running an eager hand against the wooden handle to inspect the broom's label.

"It is no Firebolt, but I am told it is currently the best model." his guardian said.

"It's a Comet 220, it's the best that's out there." said Tom excitedly.

"I suppose we should take it for a test flight later." the winged man replied.

"Oh definitely," said Tom, a delighted look on his face, "This is the greatest. Thank you."

His guardian shifted in his seat. "You are very welcome."

"Now what about Tom's gift?" said the teenager, lowering his broomstick back to the table.

"Ah yes." the man said, rising up from his seat. He then unfurled his great wings, stretching them to their full span. "Well. Come on, then." he said, looking to Tom Riddle.

"Uh..." Riddle had an intense look on his face. "You want me to...?" he gestured to the outstretched wings, swallowing.

"It is what you wanted, correct?" the man said, head tilted at an angle, almost curiously, "I sense-"

"Don't tell us." Tom said. He looked to Riddle, who was still staring fixedly at the feathers. "Well?"

Riddle shifted awkwardly on his feet, but after a moment's hesitation, he slowly approached the closest midnight wing. It fanned out towards him, gently waving in the air. Riddle's hand reached out, but then he hesitated.

"This won't hurt you, will it?" the boy said quietly.

"No." The man said, electric eyes focused on Tom Riddle.

Riddle’s long fingers extended into the secondaries of wing, beginning at the lower feathers. His hand slowly continued upwards towards the primaries, fingers trailing each individual feather in obvious fascination.

 _He sure is taking his time_. thought Tom.  

The man shifted his wing then, long feathers brushing against Riddle's cheek. Riddle let out a sharp intake of breath, hand frozen in the air. Moments passed, but the boy did not move.

"Go for the big one," said Tom, impatient.

Riddle then finally seemed to remember what he was doing. He reached a hand to the longest feather, and with a quick pull, removed it. Riddle stepped back, holding it between his long fingers, eyes glued to the black colour.

Tom's guardian drew back his wings, eyes never leaving Riddle's face.

"I believe the correct term is _thank you_ ," said Tom with a dismissive glance, returning back to inspect his new broom.

Riddle slowly sat down next to him. Tom ignored him, instead inspecting the broom's handle, eyes gleefully locked on the _Comet 220_ embossed on the wood.

He heard a whisper emit from Tom Riddle. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." replied Harry Potter.

 

"Let's do this, already!!"

"Now Tom, remember, you will want to carefully grip the shaft."

"Got it. I'm ready. Come on."

"Relax your fingers. There. Bend slightly forward. Knees together. Loosen your shoulders."

"I am dying here."

"You are exaggerating." said his guardian, rolling his neon green and black eyes and stepping back from where the boy was poised with his broomstick.

The three were standing on the ledge of a series of large cliffs. The sea below them tumbled earnestly, deep blue waves crashing against the weathered stone. Green grass whipped beneath their feet in the strong wind, creating an unending expanse of dancing stalks. It was a bright sunny day, with only the fewest traces of thin clouds above them in the January air.

Tom Potter was finally going to break in his new Comet 220. Tom Riddle stood nearby, watching the sea below in passive interest.

"Where is this, again?" Riddle said, as another blue wave smacked against the bottom of the outcropping they were standing on.

"What?" called Tom, unable to hear him over the furious wind.

"The Cliffs of Moher." came the reply from his guardian.

Tom leaned forward eagerly on his broom, preparing to shove off from the ground. "Now, are you ready?" came the reply to his right.

Tom nodded; eyes focused on the heavens above. The teenager sucked in an anticipatory breath. But he then paused, looking over to his caretaker. A longing look crossed his face. "Will you...fly with me?" he said, hesitantly.

The man stretched his wings out in answer. Tom gave a whoop of joy.

"I suppose I'll see you two later, " said Riddle with a turn, moving to walk back down the rocky terrace.

"You will come with us, Tom Riddle." came the monotone reply.

"Huh?" Tom said, leaning back on his broom. "But...he doesn't have a broom...?" The boy looked to Riddle. "And he doesn't know how to fly."

"Not yet." came a muttered reply.

"What did you say?"

"It is not a problem. I am capable of flying us both." Tom's guardian said, looking intently at Riddle.

"Are you going to carry him?" said Tom in disbelief. Riddle stared at them both, grey eyes darting back and forth between the two Potters.

"He can ride me." came the reply. Riddle turned an interesting shade of red.

"On...your back?" Tom said, still confused.

"I am not limited to this form." The man said, wings flexing.

"Limited to a form....like an Animagus?" said Tom in interest.

"An Animagus is one. I am many."

Riddle stepped closer, until he was parallel to the man's shoulder, near his right wing.

"You can take...more than one form?" Riddle said, eyes gleaming.

"Yes. I will assume the form of a flying creature. Did you have any particular beast in mind?" the man said, inclining his head towards Tom Riddle.

"A flying horse." demanded Riddle.

The neon green and black eyes creased in mirth.

"I think I have something more suitable for you, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Yeah whatever, LET'S GO!" shouted Tom Potter. With a fierce whoop and a salute of his arm, the boy rose into the cerulean sky, wind whipping into his face. As he climbed higher into the sky, the broom held between his knees, he soared- sending his broom into dizzying spirals in excitement. After a few minutes of spins, he gave a look back down, to clear his head.

The waves underneath rippled in sun, creating a great expanse of ultramarine. Below, Tom could see what looked like several porpoises hunting fish, their silver bodies darting to and fro beneath the waves.

"Dolphins." he observed.

_Speaking of animals..._

The boy scanned the air, hovering. "Where are you....?"  he murmured, casting a look back down the sea. Long moments passed, but the boy could not see anything.

He began to fly back to the cliffs to find where his guardian had gone. But no sooner than he began to move did a huge, black shadow overtake him from above. He slowly lifted his head, to see what was blotting out the sun.

"What the..."

A gigantic serpent suddenly dove at him.

The boy let out a shriek, darting away from the creature that whipped by. Black scales of midnight flashed at him, and feathers of equivalent dark pitch whispered past, wings beating madly into the wind.

 _That thing is huge._ Tom thought, willing his heart to slow.

"Scared, Potter?" came a gleeful laugh from the tall figure riding near the serpent's head.

"You wish!" barked the boy in response, tightening his knees and darting down after the flying snake.

The serpent flew over the ocean waves, his shadow creating a dark impression on blue below. Tom observed the mouth was somewhat beak-like, like a bird's, with feathers crested around its head.

A tug of memory came to him from one of Kettleburn's lectures.

"That's...an Occamy." he said, watching the snake dip over the dolphins. The serpent then climbed back up again, and Tom saw familiar neon eyes glowing at him.

"That's amazing!" he cried, pumping his fist into the air. The giant midnight Occamy weaved around him in a spiral, and Tom's hair ruffled in the wind, his heart beating madly at this display.

The snake, after doing a successive amount of loops around Tom, pulled down into the air, hovering below. Tom could see Riddle holding on its head. The boy leaned down to the snake's feather crown.

Tom blinked from where he observed higher above them. He couldn't make it out over the noise of the high wind, but there was... _hissing?_ Was Riddle hissing at the snake?

He dipped down, but as soon as he approached, Riddle shut his mouth.

"What was that about?" he said, eyes focusing on Riddle's face.

Riddle gave him a long look, raising an eyebrow. "I was just telling him how I am surprised you didn't break into song. How did it go again?" the teenager shrugged his shoulders, tapping a thoughtful finger to his chin, as he opened his mouth, "I believe I can flyyy...."

Tom dove his broom at Riddle.

 

"Now, the Unforgiveable Curses are three of the most powerful and sinister spells that are known to us. The curses were first classified as such in 1717 with severe penalties in regarding their deployment. They are used primarily by those affiliated with the Dark arts. Who would name them for me?"

"She should ask the subject matter expert." whispered Riddle from behind him. Tom only made a rude gesture at him from over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around.

"Mr. Riddle, I see you poised there. Can you tell me what they are?"

Tom smirked, sensing Riddle leaning away from him.

"Yes, Professor Merrythought. They are the Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and the Killing Curse."

"Excellent. Five points to Slytherin." The woman turned around, writing their names on the blackboard. "Now, for an additional five points, who can tell me what they are used for?"

"The Imperius is for controlling the mind. The Cruciatus is used for inflicting pain. The Killing Curse is used to exact instantaneous death." Tom said.

"Excellent verbage, Mr. Potter. Take ten points for Gryffindor. "

Tom leaned back, feeling a smidge of pride.

"Pretty good Potter, plan on using them on anybody?" whispered a voice from behind

Tom's eyes darted out the side, not recognizing the voice. He dared not physically turn around, lest he cost his House points. But with a small incline of his head, he observed a boy sitting next to Riddle, giving him a leer.

 _Dolohov._ he identified.

"Now, we do not perform these curses, nor am I liable to show them to you." continued the Professor from where she stood at the front, "Only trained Aurors in the Ministry have the exact permit to do so, and as such, I am not one of them. Let us open our books to page 1138 where we will begin to read about their exact effects on the human body."

Tom moved to his book, tipping it open to the page. A diagram showed a man's face, mouth hung half-open and eyes gazing out sightlessly.

"The Imperius Curse." said the Professor. "Used for controlling the mind. This spell gives casters the means to coerce unwilling subjects to do their bidding. The victim becomes like a slave, forced to commit acts that are dictated to them against their will."

Tom's eyes flicked lower, where another picture depicted a wizard standing behind a sprawled figure, with his wand pointed downwards.

"The Cruciatus," continued Merrythought, "Capable of inflicting excruciating pain on its victims. This curse is meant to torment and agonize, used as a means for the caster to torture victims by triggering their pain receptors."

Tom's eyes scanned further down the page, until it reached the symbol of a skull.

"The Killing Curse. Arguably the most sinister of three. There is no counter spell. If this curse strikes you, you will die instantly."

He continued to stare at the skull in fascination. The black pits of its eyes glared out him from the parchment with teeth bared in a wicked grin. The drawing had been done in dark, black ink, and to him, it created a striking impression.

Feeling bold, he began to etch in a flower near the skull's mouth.

A whack of a desk came behind him. Tom cursed, his quill dragging down the book's page.

"What?" he hissed, shooting a dark look over his shoulder.

"Pay attention." came the taunting voice.

"Now, the curses were invented in the Medieval Ages, and- Mr. Riddle, was there something you wished to add?"

 _Please deduct points_. thought Tom in irritation.

"No Professor." came the smooth voice from behind.

"Very well. While the spells were officially deemed Unforgiveable in 1717, they were deployed as weapons as early as...."

Tom's gaze dropped to his drawing. The ink had run from the skull's mouth, creating an _S_ shape extending down to the bottom of the page.

_Looks like a snake._

His gaze wandered over to his pile of notes. An elaborate sketch of a winged serpent danced across the ledging, small clouds etched around it. The teenager then moved his quill over to it, quietly shading in black around the pupils

 

Tom was standing outside the bathroom, feeling awkward.

"Er...Myrtle?" he called out. Loud sobs echoed from within. He shifted back and forth on his feet in discomfort.

"I can't go in there..." he muttered to himself, shooting frantic looks up and down the hallway. Seeing no one, he took a breath, wiggling his long fingers in anxiety.

_Well, come on then, feet._

The boy strode into the girl's bathroom.

He founded Myrtle huddled over by the sink. Her glasses were fogged from her crying, and her pigtails were half-undone, strands of hair frizzing out wildly. The girl's knees were held between her arms, and she rocked slowly back in forth, crying.

"That...Olive...Hornby!" she sobbed.

_I should have known._

"What did she do this time, Myrtle?" Tom said, bending down to her eye-level.

"She said..." a sniff, "she said..." another sob.

"Said what?"

The girl picked up her head, looking at Tom. Her face was red and soaked with her tears.

"My glasses..." Myrtle choked, and dug her face back into her arms, sobbing once more.

"There's nothing wrong with your glasses, Warren, they are perfectly fine." Tom said calmly.

The girl let out an audible sniff. She raised her head to Tom, slowly. "You...think that?"

"You shouldn't listen to Olive Hornby, Myrtle."

"She says I'm ugly and pimply!" the girl blurted.

"You shouldn't base yourself on looks alone. I mean, think about it. You're smart, you're..." Tom trailed. "...in Ravenclaw..."

"What does that have to do with anything." she said flatly.

"Well they don't sort dummies into that house, " he said. “So think better of yourself."

He held a hand out to her, and helped her up to her feet. The girl's eyes darted to his long fingers wrapped around her wrist.

"You're...really nice to me, Tom." she said slowly.

The teenager shrugged. "Someone has to be, right?" said Tom, releasing her wrist. "Why don't we go outside for a walk? Clear your head?"

She gave him an intense look, followed by a pleased sigh. "I'd like nothing more.... Tom."

 

  
"MUDBLOODS GET OUT." read Tom.

Having left the Great Hall feast early that night after a full day of studies, Tom was standing alone in one of the many cloisters of the school, observing the latest graffiti. It was done in large, red letters, paint still dripping down the walls.

Professor Dumbledore strode into the open area, accompanied by a Prefect. Tom turned, suddenly aware that he was quite alone.

"Tom Potter." Dumbledore said, blue eyes looking at him intensely.

"It wasn't me!" he blurted. The man sighed, turning to the Prefect.

"Now, repeat what you told me earlier?"

"Someone said Potter was graffitiing the hallways with anti-Muggle slurs." said the Prefect, eyes flicking over to Tom.

"What someone?" cried Tom. "I would never do that!"

"Calm down, Mr. Potter, you are not accused of anything at this point." replied Dumbledore. He turned a steady gaze to the Prefect. "Now, can you tell me when this was observed?"

The Prefect shrugged. "It's been said he's been doing it all semester."

"Oh come on!" Tom said angrily, "I'm Muggleborn, why would I be slandering-"

Dumbledore raised a hand. Tom fell silent, biting in his lip in anxiety.

"At this point, we do not have any physical evidence against Mr. Potter, and as such, we cannot hold him liable for these actions," the Professor said, "However, I will press it to you and the other Prefects that you keep vigilance against these types of hateful speech, and report any instance immediately. I will send word to the other Professors."

The Prefect gave a nod, and Professor Dumbledore dismissed him. He turned back to Tom, whose eyes were trained on the letters, his fists clutched angrily at the red seeping down the walls.

"I must ask you, Tom, whether there is anything you’d like to tell me," Dumbledore said gently, "Anything at all."

"No," said Tom, fixated on the scarlet ink, "There isn't anything, Professor."

 

**_ Sources: _ **

_Counter Legilemency:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Protection_Charm_Your_Mind:_A_Practical_Guide_to_Counter_Legilimensy>

_Toujurs Pur:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/House_of_Black>

_"People Join us because ...."_

<https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/f2/f3/13/f2f313e17f36a15735d4c0c57122cce2.jpg>

_Comet:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Comet_220>

_Opal Necklace:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Opal_Necklace>

_Caractacus Burke (Borgin and Burkes):_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Caractacus_Burke>

_Abraxas Malfoy:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Abraxas_Malfoy>

_Walking Stick:_

_<http://www.noblecollection.com/Item--i-PRP-HP-7639> _

_Blood:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Unicorn_blood>

_Mudbloods:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Mudblood>

_Rancorous Carpe:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Rancorous_Carpe>

_Walburga Black:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Walburga_Black>

_Bezoar: "Just shove it down their throat?"_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Bezoar>

_Library:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hogwarts_Library>

_Secrets of the Darkest Art:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Secrets_of_the_Darkest_Art>

_Feathers:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Category:Potion_ingredients>

_Tom Riddle's Diary:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/T._M._Riddle's_Diary>

_Cliffs of Moher:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cliffs_of_Moher>

_"And he doesn't know how to fly." "Not yet."_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Unsupported_flight>

_Salute while Ascending: Inspired by Weyrleaders Ascending on Dragons, book series Dragonriders of Pern by Anne McCaffrey (1967)_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dragonriders_of_Pern>

_Test Flight: Inspired by scene in the film, How to Train your Dragon (2010)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LECmyZB-cgM>

_Shadow: Inspired by scene in the film Avatar (2009)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zXcYuOid0mY>

_"Scared Potter?" " You wish!"  from film Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets (2002)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIITA1jSjEA>

_Occamy:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Occamy>

_"I believe I can flyyy...."_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yukp49fI8Uk>

_Unforgivables:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Unforgivable_Curses>

_Looks like a Snake:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Dark_Mark>

_Myrtle:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Myrtle_Warren>

_"Well, come on then, feet." Labyrinth (1986)_

<http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0091369/quotes>

_"I must ask you, Tom":_

<http://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/73080/what-did-dumbledore-suspect-of-harry-during-their-conversation-in-harry-potter-a>


	8. Chapter 8

Tom rolled sleepily over in his bed, giving a stretch of his back. A noise perturbed his thoughts, and he sat up, the mattress creaking as he rose.

 _Ugh, what time is it...._ he squinted over to the clock, poised over the closed door.

It read 3 AM.

 _Now why am I up at this time?_ he thought, blearily rubbing at his eyes. A groan emitted from nearby, and Tom found himself looking over at Riddle's bed.

The other teenager was lying haphazardly across his bed, his thin bedsheets pulled down to his hips. His upper body was bare, but this was unsurprising, given that it had been a rather warm summer in Godric's Hollow.

Riddle then let out another groan. Tom shifted in his bed, watching.

The unconscious boy's chest began to heave in excitement. Tom stared, noticing Riddle was covered in a sheen of sweat.

"Uh...ah...." Riddle moaned, head tossing wildly about.

 _What is he dreaming about?_ thought Tom, watching him in silence.

The boy then gave a ferocious buck of his hips. His mouth flapped open, and he began to pant, audibly.

"Harr....uh... _please_."

"Riddle?" he said, leaning over in his bed. "You alright there?"

"In....you....oh... _yessss_...." hissed Riddle.

"What?" said Tom, confused.

The boy let out another moan. Tom could see his tongue.

"Wake up!" he said irritably, throwing his pillow.

It missed its target, sailing over Riddle to thump against the nearby wall. Tom scowled, pulling himself out of his bed to retrieve it. He stomped over to the side of Riddle's bed.

"Bloody wake me up." he said, shooting a nasty look over to the boy as he bent down to grab the discarded pillow.

He suddenly paused, as Riddle's hips thrust up against the sheets with a final, wild buck. The teenager then settled down into the mattress. Tom's eyes gazed to the thin sheet wrapped around Riddle's hips.

There was clearly visible tent underneath the fabric, where Riddle's hips had been thrusting. What looked like a wetness was leaking into the white sheet. Tom stared, feeling a creeping embarrassment.

_Did he just..._

"So..good....." moaned the teenager.

"Now you wake up!" shrieked Tom, slapping his pillow down on Riddle's head.

 

"I'm not sleeping in there anymore." Riddle said moodily.

"Who says I want you in my room, anyway?" Tom replied in irritation from where he was seated across from Riddle in the kitchen.

"Elaborate." said his guardian, who was standing near the stove.

"Riddle's making weird noises at night," said Tom, crossing his arms against his chest.

"Define weird." said the man. Tom flushed, looking away from the table.

"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign," taunted Riddle.

"You shut up." Tom growled.

The man walked over to the table, his wings half-arched behind him. He loomed over the table, neon eyes flicking from Tom, then to Riddle.

"You are both of age." he said.

"Huh?" said Tom, blinking owlishly.

"Give me your wand." the man said, extending a pale hand towards him. Tom placed his holly wand in his guardian's palm gently, feeling his fingers brush over cool skin.

The pale fingers curled around the wand, drawing back. Tom unconsciously wet his lips.

"Come with me." said the man, turning away from them. The midnight wings fanned out imperiously behind, like a dark cloak. The two Toms trailed after him.

He ascended the staircase of the home, until he had reached the second floor. The neon eyes looked at Tom's room, then to Riddle.

"Do you have your things, Tom Riddle?" said the man.

"I will get them." replied Riddle, making his way towards Tom's room.

"There is no need. _Accio Tom Marvolo Riddle's equipment."_

A flurry of bangs was heard, and then Riddle's belongings piled at his feet.

"Neat," observed Tom, "Now are you going to kick him out?"

His guardian did not reply. Instead, he shut his neon eyes. The man raised his arms, like a conductor about to lead an orchestra into a musical performance. Then he gave a whip of the wand, as if instructing the imaginary band to play.

A creaking noise was heard within the house, and then a shudder. Tom felt his hand shoot out to the railing of the staircase to balance himself. There was a strange pulling sensation, like the house was made of rubber. Riddle fell awkwardly to the ground, long legs tripping over his suitcase.

_WHACK!_

"Bollocks." exclaimed Riddle, when his face smacked into the floor.

"Language." said Tom's guardian, giving the wand a final wave, then dropping his arms.

The two younger men pulled themselves straight up, to see-

"A door." said Tom.

There were now three doors on the second floor. The black door of Tom's guardian, the green door of Tom's room, and now a red door.

"This will be your quarters, Tom Marvolo Riddle." came the flat voice.

Riddle grabbed his bags, staring in amazement. "A room...of my own?"

"Yes." the man unfolded a wing, so that he could look at Riddle from where he stood gaping on his left. "Would you like to see?"

"I..."

"Let's see if he put a colour tv in there." demanded Tom, striding forward and shoving the red door open.

There was a simple bed, a dresser, a closet, a desk, and a window. White drapes hung around the window, gently floating in the summer breeze. As Tom approached, he noticed he could see his flowerbed from the garden below.

 _I'll need to replant those._ he thought to himself, adding it to his things-to-do list.

Riddle walked in quietly after him. The boy began to set his things down, setting books on the desk, and his laying school robes across the bed. He suddenly hesitated.

"Will you...come in?" Riddle said, looking to where Tom's guardian remained standing outside the door.

"Only if you invite me." came the reply.

 

"Weeds!" griped Tom, ripping out said stalk from where it was strangling around a red Chrysanthemum.

Riddle leaned out of his room's window on the second floor, calling to Tom below as he continued to de-weed his flowers. "Herbology, Potter?"

Tom wiped a profuse amount of sweat away from his face, turning around so he could call back up to Tom Riddle. "No mandrakes down here, Tom, so you're in good luck."

"Hm." the teenager replied, leaning back into his room, and closing the window.

_Fine, don't talk to me._

Despite the fact the two boys were living in the same house together, Riddle had been particularly distant that summer. Tom would attempt to make conversation with him, but the other teenager would either say something dismissive, or ignore him completely.

Tom had grown tired of this behaviour, and so had desisted chasing after him. He yanked out a particularly fat weed near a yellow flower.

"Weeding out the undesirables, I see." came a familiar voice from behind.

"YEEK!" Tom said, half-springing out of the flowerbed. "Don't do that!"

His guardian only tilted his head curiously at him. "Do what?"

"Just...sneak up like that." the boy replied, clutching a dirtied glove to his chest, willing his heartbeat to slow.

His guardian stepped past the teenager's crouched body. The man lowered himself down to a white blossoming Chrysanthemum, and gently took it in his pale hands. His black wings spread out, as to balance himself. "These are quite beautiful, Tom."

Tom’s mouth gaped open…and he flushed. "You...like them?"

"I do." the man began to gently trace the flower with his pale fingers, reverently caressing the petals.

Tom felt a strange lurch in his stomach at this.

"I uh...." he swallowed. "Just resoiled them..."

"Yes. You take good care of the flowers. You have a gift."

Tom rubbed the back of his head, feeling his heart beginning to pound in his chest. "Th-thanks."

The man slowly rose to his legs then, midnight wings elegantly folding behind him. He gave a look down to his ward, who was still kneeling before the flowers.

"I sense..."

"Don't do that!" blurted Tom. "Don't read my thoughts!"

"Thoughts?" the man said.

"Emotions, whatever." Tom said, turning away so that the man could not see his face.

"I will try to refrain." came the cool reply. Tom continued to re-settle the soil, willing his face to stop feeling so warm.

"I want to mention something, Tom." his guardian said then.

Tom swallowed, trying to focus on placing the dirt below the flower, and not on himself. "Yes, Harry?" He winced, suddenly releasing his mistake.

 _I called him Harry_. Tom shut his eyes in embarrassment.

A black wing extended out to him, gently brushing his shoulder. Tom let out an exhale of breath he did not realizing he was holding, and snapped his eyes open, seeing the midnight feathers near his face.

"There is no reason for shame." said his guardian.

"I know you don't like it when I call you that." Tom whispered, feeling sad, confused, and hopeful all at once.

"It is my name." came the reply. "No amount of my own dislike will change it."

"Oh." the boy then looked up to the man, gazing into his neon green and black eyes. "What did you want to talk about?"

"Tom Riddle."

A sudden angry emotion pulsed through Tom.

"What about _him_?"

"From him I sense...." his guardian started, but then Tom let out a low growl.

"Why are you feeling his emotions? Who cares about him?" Tom rose to his feet, looking down at the winged man. As the teenager stared, he suddenly blinked, realizing-

_I'm...taller than him._

The man tilted his head up, neon eyes looking into Tom's.

"I have upset you."

"Argh!" Tom threw his gloves off. "I just told you to stop doing that!"

"I am sorry. It is difficult when you broadcast so loudly."

Tom stared at his feet, squeezing his eyes shut at this apology. He then opened them once more, looking down to his guardian.

"Don't think about it," he said, "What about Riddle?"

"I sense dark things from Tom Riddle. I am concerned on the impact it could have on you. "

"You're telling me." _Riddle was always pushing his buttons._

"If anything...this year...." the man said. "Seems strange, or odd at Hogwarts..."

"You'll banish Riddle to another dimension?" said Tom, feeling a pleasure at the thought. He added, with a small smirk, "Guess he'll fail his O.W.L.s."

"Write to me."

"Write to you?"

"Yes." the man then stepped forward, leaning closely to Tom's face. Tom let out a gasp of breath, feeling electricity running down his spine.

_His eyes...._

The man continued to stare. "Promise me."

_Uh..._

"Yes." he stammered.

"Good." the man said, stepping back. He left Tom in the garden. The boy's heart beat frantically in his chest, and a deep longing he had never known coursed through him.

 

Tom Riddle writhed in his sleep, his long arms splaying out underneath the thin sheets.

" _Oh yessss_..." the boy hissed, snake-like. " _You..are...mine_..."

His arm slapped the sheets away, exposing his naked body to the summer air. His chest, slicked with sweat, gleamed in the moonlight. His nipples were erect, and the boy ran an unconscious hand across his chest as if to stimulate them.

The teenager gave a lazy thrust of his hips, panting out into the night air,

_"Only..mine...Harry...Potter..."_

Riddle then finished with a sigh. Between long legs, his stiffened member ejaculated clear fluid onto his lean stomach. The boy then rolled onto his side, giving small puffs of air from parted lips. The liquid seed slowly trailed down from his belly, seeping into the sheet below.

Above him, a dark shadow writhed on the ceiling of the room, neon green and black staring down from a bodiless shape.

" _Yess...Tom Marvolo Riddle..."_ hissed the shadow in reply. " _Yoursss...."_

 

"ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE." read Tom, staring at the new graffiti.

"Who's the heir?" commented Myrtle Warren next to him. The girl had been spending a lot of time around Tom, and some days, he felt as if he could never effectively get away from her clinging.

"Well, it could be a lot of people." shrugged Tom, a strange prickling in the back of his mind.

"I guess." said Myrtle. She looked to Tom again. "Are you busy after class today?"

"Mm, I don't know." the boy said noncommittally. "Why?"

The girl stepped forward, somewhat leaning up to Tom. "I need help...studying?"

Tom took a step back. "For what? You aced Potions last year. "

"I uh..." she said, inching closer, "Need help...with Herbology?"

"You aced that too." the boy said, inching away.

Myrtle opened her mouth to respond, but Tom observed Riddle coming down the hallway.

_The Heir...._

"Hang on," he said to her, distractedly.

Riddle was striding in the hallway with his club like he owned the place. Tom stepped in Riddle's path, blocking him. The teenager's back stiffened, and his grey eyes lighted on Tom's face.

"What do you want?" he sniffed.

"We need to talk."

"About what, Potter? I'm busy." Riddle said haughtily. The other boys crowded around him, and Tom felt outnumbered.

"Look, can we talk away from your little friends?" he snapped, waving a hand out as if to banish them.

"The Knights of Walpurgis." came a sneer from his right.

 _Shut up, Lestrange._ thought Tom.

"I'm afraid I have better things to do." Riddle said with a sneer. He gave a look to Myrtle. "I see your taste in company has not changed."

"What's that supposed to mean."

"Exactly what you think it does, Potter." said Riddle, giving him a dismissive look.

_I am not putting up with this._

"You're the one writing on the walls!" he accused, his hands balling into fists. Riddle's eyebrows raised.

"And how do you know this?" he scoffed. The other boys took a step back, as Riddle took a dominating step forward, as he pressed, "What proof do you have, Potter?"

When Tom did not reply, Riddle gave a smirk, as he paced around the other boy, arms crossed behind his back. "Oh, that's right. You don't have any."

Tom scowled, his breath coming in short pants as the two circled around each other. "What's your game, Riddle?"

Riddle then further invaded his space, grey eyes boring into his own. "You think this is a game, Potter?" he said softly.

"I'd like to know what you're up to," Tom growled, "You're my brother."

"As if that matters." said Riddle out loud. But then he leaned forward, up to Tom's ear, whispering so that only he could hear, "Only half, Muggle."

Tom felt the satisfying _CRUNCH_ of Riddle's nose beneath his fist.

 

"You attacked a Prefect, Potter?"

"He deserved it." Tom said moodily.

"I see." said the elder girl.

The teenager was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, having just left Dumbledore's office. In his long fingers he held the slip declaring his detention, to be served with the Gamekeeper, Ogg, on Saturday afternoon. He was currently being interrogated by one of the Gryffindor Prefects.

"Do you want to talk about why you did it?" she said.

"Well..." Tom shifted in his chair.

_I have no proof._

"Sibling spat." he answered with a shrug.

"You do look a lot alike." the girl idly commented, her eyes scanning over Tom's face. Tom felt his face pull into a frown. He looked off to the side, pulling on his red and gold tie in unconscious annoyance.

"Are you twins?" the Prefect pressed.

He looked back to her, noticing she had leaned forward. "We have different mothers." 

"Hm." The girl now tilted her head. "Is he...?"

_A jerk? Why yes._

"Seeing anybody?"

Tom wanted to slap his face right then.

"I don't think he's looking." he muttered, not willing to justify for Tom Riddle.

The girl gave him a cursory look. "Well...are you seeing anybody?"

Tom felt his face colour.

"Uh....no?" he said, shifting uncomfortably.

"Hmm." She gave him another look, "Well, if you're free on Saturday-"

"Detention." he said, waving the paper in front of her.

"Oh right." She gave him a disappointed glance, "Well...I'll see you later then, Potter."

Tom leaned back in his chair as she left. _I wish I was a Metamorphmagus,_ he grumbled to himself, _then people wouldn't see me as bloody Tom Riddle._

He observed the fire flickering from the hearth. He felt himself become lulled by the red-orange colours of the flames. The boy began to relax, his breaths slowing as his eyes half-lidded, watching the fire writhe against the logs. The way the flames twisted and glowed bright in the gloom reminded him of-

 _Dark things..._ a voice called in his mind.

 

"Just stack 'em there."

"Right." said Tom.

The teen was currently outside of the school, near the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. It was a cloudy Saturday afternoon, and Tom was in the middle of serving his detention. He hoisted the crate up to his chest, giving an inspection to the live-

"Chickens." Tom said, as one of the fowls began to peck at his fingers.

"And a Rooster." said Ogg. "Jus' put 'em in the coop."

The teenager walked over to the coop carefully, moving his long fingers out of the way of sharp beaks. "Who would even want these things," he grumbled, placing the crate before the wired enclosure.

"Good for eggs." Ogg commented.

"Right." Tom grabbed a squawking chicken, shoving it into the coop. It wildly flapped its white wings, careening to the ground in a mad panic. As he ducked into the crate for another squawking bird, he heard a deep voice call from the direction of the school.

"Sir? Gamekeeper Ogg?"

 _Who calls the gamekeeper Sir_ , thought Tom with a roll of his eyes. The teen focused on the chickens, debating on which one looked less likely to attack.

"There's no need to call me sir,” came the voice of Ogg, “I'll be wih' you in a minute, I gotta get the feed for 'em." The man lumbered off.

Tom grabbed a bird, hoisting it in the air as it cawed and wriggled. He only paused to see his fellow Gryffindor Rubeus Hagrid standing next to him.

"Can I help you?" he said, raising an eyebrow as the chicken madly flapped in his grasp.

"I was jus' gonna ask you that." the boy said, pointing at the panicking bird, "Need a hand?"

"You don't have detention." Tom replied, watching the taller boy dip down to grab the clucking chicken from his hands.

"Nah. I like critters." The fowl squawked in protest, but Hagrid ran a large finger on its head, in an attempt to soothe it. The bird bit him.

"I don't think they like anybody." Tom remarked.

"They jus' scared." The tall boy let the chicken flap down into the coop to join its partner. The two birds pecked at each other.

"What brings you out here anyway?" Tom asked.

"I come ou' here a lot." Hagrid said, shushing a bird as it frantically ducked away from his large fingers in the crate. "Gamekeeper gives me advice. Thas' why I'm here."

"You want to be a Gamekeeper?" _That's not an ambition._

"Nah," the tall boy said, ducking into the crate to catch another chicken. "I'd like to be a dragon keeper."

 _Explains why you like chickens._ thought Tom, eyeing their hooked claws scrabbling against the crate.

 

"Out of my way, Potter."

"Look, I'm sorry I punched you in the face, but you really had it coming."

"Are you here expecting an apology, because you won't get one." Riddle said.

The two boys were out in the courtyard. Tom had managed to encounter Riddle on his way to Charms, and was now standing in front of the other boy in a means to talk to him.

"I was going to ask you about Christmas," Tom said, rolling his eyes, "Are you coming or what?"

"No Potter," he said, curtly, "I'm busy."

"Busy with what?"

"That's not for you to know."

The other boy made to pass around Tom, but he stood his ground. "That's it, huh? Me and Harry aren't good enough for you?"

"Move Potter," the grey eyed boy glared, "I have more important things to do."

"What things-"

But the boy didn't finish his question. A panicked scream rang out from one of the Hogwarts corridors, and he faced to the noise.

"What the-!" Tom said, watching a second-year Ravenclaw pelt out in the courtyard in fright.

"Spiders!" she shrieked, pointing at the nearby hallway. Hundreds of small, black spiders were crawling out of the corridor, spindly feet carrying their tiny bodies into the courtyard. Tom made to step around them, as they pelted in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.

"That's really weird." he muttered looking over to Riddle.

Riddle gave a sharp look over to stone wall, as if seeing through it. "I have to go. I'm needed."

"Who needs you?" Tom said.

Riddle then looked to Tom, a strange look on his face. "I'd keep your head low if I were you, Potter. "

"Why?"

Riddle opened his mouth, then shut it. "Just do as I say." he said irritably. The teenager strode away, and Tom watched his back disappear into the corridor.

Tom turned back to watch the spiders flee into forest.

_Odd..._

He turned back to where Riddle had gone.

_He's up to something._

Tom penned his guardian later that evening.

_Nothing too crazy here yet. Going to keep an eye on Riddle. Will see you this summer._

 

**_ Sources: _ **

_"Hearing voices no one else can hear isn't a good sign,"_

_"Enemies of the Heir..."_

<https://en.wikiquote.org/wiki/Harry_Potter_and_the_Chamber_of_Secrets>

_"Only if you invite me."_

<http://vampirediaries.wikia.com/wiki/Invitation>

_Mandrakes:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Mandrake>

_Parseltongue:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Parseltongue>

_Nocturnal Emission:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nocturnal_emission>

_Prefect:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Prefect>

_Metamorphagus:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Metamorphmagus>

_Ogg:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Ogg>

_"There's no need to call me Sir..."_

<https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/27992-do-you-remember-me-telling-you-we-are-practicing-non-verbal>

_Hagrid:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Rubeus_Hagrid>

_Spiders:_

<https://www.pottermore.com/book-extract-long/basilisk-discovery>


	9. Chapter 9

The first body turned up just after January.

"Petrified." clarified Tom, as he walked with Myrtle to the Quidditch pitch. She didn't seem to really be listening, only intently gazing at Tom as he walked beside her.

"Yeah, who knows what that's about..." she said.

"It was a girl," he continued, "From Ravenclaw. They took her to St. Mungo's."

"Shame about that." came the sigh. Tom paused.

"Um, Warren? Why do you keep staring at my face?"

"You have nice eyes," she said, stepping closer to him.

"Uh...ok Myrtle." Tom said, fixing his eyes forward.

_This is just getting too awkward with her._

They made their way into the stands, climbing up as to get a better look. Tom sat down. Myrtle did as well, but then somewhat _leaned_ on him.

"Warren..." he ground out, his face flushing, "What are you doing."

She giggled. "Well I was just thinking Tom-"

"Myrtle," he growled, nervously shooting glances to see if anyone was watching this, "This is really not _... appropriate_."

"Oh, but I think you like it," she said, fluttering her eyes beneath her glasses.

 _If I shove her, will I get another detention?_ thought Tom. But he did not have to make that decision that day.

"ATTENTION STUDENTS," blared the loudspeaker, "TODAY'S QUIDDITCH MATCH HAS BEEN CANCELLED. RETURN IMMEDIATELY TO YOUR DORMITORIES."

"Cancel Quidditch!" Tom complained, as he stood up. Myrtle gave a pouting noise as he stepped away from her.

"I'm sure there's a good reason," he stammered, as she made to snatch his hand.

 

_Three students have been petrified..._

Tom was sitting out in the courtyard, having just finished his Ancient Runes class. His bag was stuffed with notes, as the threat of O.W.L.s lingered. He had had trouble sleeping the past few weeks, and combined with the study load, he had no motivation to see if he'd copied the right information.

 _Maybe I shouldn't bother even bother studying for them,_ he thought tiredly. A few Gryffindors had been talking earlier that morning at breakfast that the school was going to be shut down in light of the attacks.

"The Chamber of Secrets has been opened... "he muttered to himself, recalling the graffiti.

 _But nobody's died..._ he tapped a long finger to his chin, giving a yawn. _What does that mean?_

"Oh Tooom!!" called a familiar voice.

The boy shrunk on the bench, coming awake at the noise. _Oh, please don't know I'm here._

Myrtle Warren came out of the corridor. Her hair had been somewhat styled around her glasses, and she had a small flower tacked by the corner of her glasses. The girl strode up to him, giving him a-

 _Don't look at me like that._ Tom thought, face colouring as he bunched his fists on top of his long thighs.

"You're so handsome Tom." she purred.

"Myrtle, I'm really not interested." he said, staring at the ground. He hoped this would send her into tears. This unfortunately did the opposite.

"You took the scarf I gave you for your sixteenth birthday," she said, sitting on the bench next to him.  "Though I would have given it to you earlier, had I known you were born on the first."

"Yeah Myrtle, I took it because you put a Jelly-Legs Jinx on me, forcing me to fall forwards and take it from you." he growled, recalling the incident.

She gave a giggle and leaned on his shoulder. Tom inched away, but she followed him.

_Somebody save me._

"You get away from him, Mudblood." snapped a cold voice.

Tom blinked, and Myrtle froze. Riddle was standing in the courtyard. The other teenager's eyes were staring at Myrtle hatefully.

"Tom Riddle?" she blinked, "What was that you said?"

"Don't say it again, Tom." replied the other boy, shoving off the bench. _Did he just say...._

Riddle ignored him, staring at Myrtle. "You are bothering him. You stupid wench."

 _Are you only noticing this now?_ thought Tom, irritated.

"He's not bothered, he likes it." she huffed.

Riddle scowled darkly. As he approached them both, Tom noticed he had dark circles around his eyes, and his skin was paler than normal. While Tom could share in his exhaustion, he observed the boy looked worse off. _He doesn't look like he's slept in days._

"I don't like you." he snapped at Myrtle.

"Tom-" the other boy said, but Riddle continued-

"But I'm not too worried." Tom Riddle added, grey eyes flashing a reddish colour in the twilight, "You'll get what's coming to you."

Myrtle shifted uncomfortably on the bench, behind Tom.

 _What is he talking about?_ thought Tom. But then his eyes flicked down to the book that was clutched fiercely in Riddle's pale hand.

 _Oh...it's the journal I gave him._ Tom squinted at the at the book little more closely.

There looked to be blood dripping from its cover.

Tom stared.

 _Dark things_...hissed a voice.

He penned his guardian that evening.

 

Tom Riddle heard footsteps echoing in the chamber.

" _Stay put_." He hissed to the great serpent. The basilisk gave a nod of acquiescence, eyes still shut in his presence.

He walked out in the wet damp, the light from the torches creating writhing shadows on the walls. "Who's there?" he ordered, the sound echoing in the chamber's dim halls. He drew forth his wand, prepared to defend himself against the intruder.

"Who do you think?" a familiar voice replied back to him. A large shadow stood towards the entrance way. There was only one silhouette like it, and the glasses were a dead giveaway.

"Harry Potter." he growled.

"Correct." The man walked toward Tom, his profile becoming clearer in the light. He was dressed in a tan trench coat, pressed shirt and trousers, with a red tie looped around his throat. If it were any other setting, he would look like a businessman on the way to a potential client. As such, this was the Chamber of Secrets, a complete antithesis to what he was wearing, which made the situation that much more ridiculous.

"How did you get down here?" demanded Riddle. "And how did you get into the school?"

"I was called for." came the cool reply.

Tom Riddle he knew he had walked right into that one. "Of course you were." he said, sarcastically. "Maybe I should ask _why_ you are here?"

"I am here to stop you."

"Really? What, you are going to give me some heartfelt lecture about how I am supposed to supposed to spare the Mudbloods?"

"No. You and I both know you cannot be reasoned with that way."

"Smartest thing I've ever heard a Potter say." Tom Riddle replied, "Well, what are you going to do? Can you tell me?"

Harry gave a tilt of his head, forest green eyes becoming half-lidded underneath his spectacles. "No. But I can show you."

Riddle brandished his wand threateningly, "You aren't going to show me anything Potter."

But then the man vanished. Tom growled, shooting a spell out after him, " _Homenum Revelio_!"

Nothing appeared. Riddle paced the length of the chamber, cursing, as he raised his wand in self-defense. After he walked the full length of the underground vault, footsteps the only sounds echoing in the murky damp, Tom then turned back. His grey eyes scanned over to where he knew the basilisk to be.

_If Potter were to attack, at least I would have something I could use to defend myself._

As such, he began to pace over to the cavity where the great serpent lay waiting to do his bidding. He could make out its great coils as he drew closer, shifting in the firelight with poisonous green colors.

_Let Potter try something stupid, the basilisk will set him straight, master of death or not._

As he opened his mouth to order the Basilisk, something viciously slammed into him. Tom Riddle went flying backwards into the ground, smacking his skull against the stone floor with a loud CRACK. The Yew wand went flying out of his fingers.

"Augh..." Tom groaned, clutching his head as a ringing noise echoed in his ears. Holding his temples between his fingers, Riddle sucked in a pained breath, willing the pain to stop lighting through his skull. Light danced behind his eyes, and he felt himself beginning to black out.

He gritted his teeth, and forced his eyes open, attempting to the focus on the ceiling. The world began dizzily to blur and spin now, and Tom Riddle's stomach took a queasy lurch with it. As he blinked his watery eyes, the ringing noise quieting, a shadow appeared in his peripheral vision.

It lingered there for a moment, then fully leaned over him, blacking out his view of the ceiling. "Potter...?" he said, weakly. A pair of neon green eyes surrounded by black stared into his own, looming above him in an obscured face.

"Let me show you." repeated the shadow, comfortingly.

Riddle let out a sigh as the room began to fade, his grey eyes involuntarily drooping until the lids fully shut. The last thing he recalled was the strange sensation of cold lips pressing against his own.

Then darkness.

 

A woman spoke in his mind.

_"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies.."_

Her voice faded.

Tom Riddle was then standing in the bedroom of a small infant. He observed the infant was sitting up in its crib, observing two figures facing each other that were mere inches away. A woman with flaming red hair, and what appeared to be a man in a hooded cloak. He hesitated, wondering what would happen if he were to interrupt them.

"Stand aside.. stand aside now.” the man hissed; face shrouded in the dark fabric of his garment. Neither one appeared to see him. Tom waved a hand out, and observed it to be see-through, ghost-like, passing through the woman's shoulder.

“Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead―”

“This is my last warning―”

“Not Harry! Please . . . have mercy . . . have mercy. . .. Not Harry! Not Harry! Please― I’ll do anything―”

“Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

A flash of green light, and the woman slumped to the ground.

" **She was Muggleborn**." a voice whispered. Riddle flinched, but was unwilling to look away.

The hooded man approached the crib, a wand extended in his pale hand. The baby had begun to cry, seeing his mother fall.

The man did not hesitate. " _Avada Kedavra_!"

Another bright green light went hurtling towards the small child. It hit the child...but then it **rebounded.**

The green light struck the hooded man, who fell into a mist of shadows. The shadows writhed on the ground, giving forth an almighty howl, and then dashed from the room, vanishing into the air.

The crib had been broken with the curses’ impact, and debris was lying everywhere. The baby sat upwards in the midst of it all, a bloody, bright red-scar shaped like lightning branded on his forehead.

"Is this supposed to make me sympathetic?" Tom Riddle said, scowling.

" **No**." replied the voice. **"It is to show you how our destinies first became intertwined with each other."**

 

"Ah!" Tom Riddle gasped aloud, as he came to on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.

His head was pounding, and he felt he had run the length of the Quidditch pitch. He sat up and cradled his head in his palms. They were covered in a cool sweat. He fumbled for his wand, and upon finding it, pointed it at his head and muttered a quick healing spell. The pounding of his head subsided, and he took in a breath, piecing together his thoughts.

He had witnessed the Dark Lord murdering Harry's mother, that was obvious. But what had he said...?

 _'Our destinies are intertwined with each other.'_ a voice added helpfully.

Tom Riddle suddenly froze.

"H...harry?"

_'Yes.'_

"Where are you?"

_'Inside you.'_

Tom Riddle scrambled to his feet, feeling an overwhelming feeling of panic.

_'Calm down.'_

"You are telling me you are inside me, and you want me to calm down?!" Riddle pointed his wand at his chest, as if to threaten the entity dwelling within: "Where are you? Get out!"

_'You spent seventeen years inside me, and I spend fifteen minutes and it is a problem?’_

A cool sensation suddenly emitted from his chest, and Tom felt like his heart was being gently squeezed by a pair of icy hands. He thumped his chest, warningly-

"Get. Out." Riddle bit out. A cold sensation creeped up his throat, and his lips opened, to expel the coldness emanating from within.

A black mist oozed out from his mouth, and fell to the floor, undulating before him like a living thing. Tom cursed and attempted to stomp on it, but it only stretched out. A black tentacle extended from its shapeless body, giving a pathetic semblance of a wave.

"I hate you." said Tom Riddle.

The shadow then shot up above him, solidifying into the winged spectral form that was Harry Potter.

"Oof!" Tom Riddle said, as Harry fell down from the air, pinning him to the ground on his stomach. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the black wings were arched above him. Riddle was reminded of the Raphael painting he had shown Harry. The irony was not lost on him.

"This changes nothing, Potter." he bit out, twisting underneath him to dislodge the man, "I'm still going to set forth the Basilisk."

"I thought you would say that." Harry balanced on him for a moment, then leapt into the air, gracefully flapping until he landed facing the entrance of the Chamber. He then turned to face Riddle.

"Why do you think I showed you that?"

"To make me feel sorry for you."

Harry lifted an eyebrow, neon green eyes showing his disbelief. "Think, Riddle. You are the smartest wizard of your year. Why would I show you _that_ specific memory?"

Riddle paused, relaying what he had seen in his mind.

A prophecy about vanquishing the Dark Lord. The approach of a hooded man. He had killed Harry's mother and tried to kill Harry. His grey eyes focused on Harry's chest. "You said...we were intertwined."

"Yes." Harry took a step forward, "Why would we be intertwined?"

The death of the woman. A curse rebounded. _The scar._

"The Dark Lord...is me?" Tom Riddle said.

 _"Was_ you." Harry was now standing in front of him, black wings arched out, fanning the air. He placed a pale hand out, splaying his fingers on Tom's chest, feeling his heart.

"Tom, you are young, sixteen, and trying to prove something." Tom Riddle opened his mouth, to angrily retort-

"I am not saying this to belittle you. I am saying this because I _was_ you." He tapped his fingers lightly on Tom's chest. "I spent so much of my own life in the shroud of a prophecy that I forgot how to live."

Harry paused, continuing carefully,

"I think you are trying to live up to what you believe to be Salazar Slytherin's legacy. But I understand you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. More than I did the man you became," Now Harry was looking at him directly in the eyes, "I know that you, like me, can forego your own prophecy."

Riddle swallowed. He looked down at Harry, those bright electric eyes accented by the black sclera. It was akin to staring at the night sky and seeing the flash of a comet. "What makes you think that?" Tom asked, his mouth dry.

"Because if you put your mind to it, Tom Riddle, you can create your own destiny. _And I believe that you can._ "

Then Harry was kissing him, and Tom's heart was thundering in his chest, and they were gripping each other in the Chamber, unwilling and unable to walk away.

 

He and Harry talked for awhile after that... _kiss._ Eventually, it was decided Harry, who was the most qualified (being an avatar of Death) that he would give the basilisk his final blessing.

"It has been down here so long Tom, I think it is tired."

Riddle kicked away a rat skull.

"It just seems a shame to do it to Salazar's memory."

"Think of it as putting a good dog to rest."

"It's not a dog-" said Riddle, but then Harry had entered the snake's den, and Tom knew he could not hear him. He supposed he should warn Harry about the basilisk's eyes, but....

_It's not like he'll die._

He waited for Harry, ears alert for any noise. Minutes passed. Riddle fidgeted in impatience. As soon as he had begun to debate whether or not to move into the den to check on them both, he heard a slow hiss, then a loud _THUMP._

_Well, I guess that's over._

Harry Potter walked back out, his black wings gracefully arched behind him. Riddle swallowed again. "So... what did you do?"

"I put her to a final sleep."

"Her?"

"Yes Tom, it was a her."

"How do you know?"

"She told me."

"You can talk to snakes?"

 _"Yess........"_ hissed Harry.

Tom Riddle felt heat. _Oh how I want to-_

"Let us walk." Harry nodded his head to the entrance of the chamber. Tom Riddle walked at his side, grey eyes darting to the other man's lips.

"How do you know Parseltongue?"

"Well," the man said thoughtfully, "First it was from you. When I- became this- I lost those powers."

"But you still can speak it now?"

"I do not believe death limited me to one language." the man said, pausing. He suddenly narrowed his eyes. "You have got to be kidding me."

"What?" said Tom Riddle.

The winged man gestured to the black book lying on the floor of the Chamber, open faced to the ceiling.

"I really want to stab that." the man said.

"You can't, it was a gift." Riddle replied crossly.

 

 _I can't believe it was Hagrid...._ thought Tom, yawning.

He was sitting at the Gryffindor table, noticing the absence of the tall boy. Apparently, someone had told a Professor he had giant Spider, and the boy had promptly been suspended.

_Lucky for him, he wasn't expelled._

He cast a sleepy glance to a tall man chatting to Professor Dumbledore at the front table. The two were sitting astride Headmaster Dippet, who seemed to be nodding at something they were saying.

The stranger was dressed in a fine blue coat and had a large suitcase next to him. Tom observed his eyes never met the Professor's nor the Headmaster's, only darting around, as if he was uncomfortable talking face to face.

 _Does he not like people?_ Tom mused.

But then Dumbledore said something and gave a pat to the man's shoulder. While the blue coated man did not look at the Professor, he gave a small smile.

 _Ok, that's a little more normal_.

Professor Dumbledore then rose to the front podium, tapping a glass. The Great Hall fell silent, and Tom shifted himself upright, tuning in.

"I have just finished speaking with my good friend, Mr. Newton Scamander. He has agreed to take the Acromantula back to its home. I understand many of you have been frightened by the events that have taken place at this school, but Hogwarts is once again safe. The injured students are recovering at St. Mungos and will be able to join us before the semester ends."

He paused. "I also understand many of you may find fault in student Rubeus Hagrid. I implore you to have sympathy. A love of beasts, while perhaps strange to some, is in fascination of their exotic nature. While we cannot understand them, some part of us admires them for what they are. "

Mr. Scamander gave a look over to his suitcase, which began to rock. Tom thought he saw a claw poking out.

"Mr. Hagrid is under suspension, but he will return soon return to us. I ask all of you to be supportive. We as a student body must unite and rely on each other." The man leaned forward on the podium. A shadow crossed his face. "I say this in regard to current events. There are things that are coming that I am afraid of. Things pertaining to the current conflict that envelopes our world."

 _Grindelwald._ Tom thought determinedly, _He's talking about Grindelwald._

He scanned over to the room, looking to Tom Riddle at the Slytherin table. The boy was staring off, as if he was daydreaming about something. Tom only shrugged, looking back to Dumbledore determinedly.

_I have to stop him._

 

_ Sources: _

_Petrification:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Petrification>

_Myrtle leans on Tom: Film Scene Inspiration, Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire (2005)_

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfUEdbveGYM&t=2m15s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VfUEdbveGYM&t=2m15s)

_Jelly Legs Jinx_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Jelly-Legs_Jinx>

_"But I can show you..."_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xqIi_AHTc30>

_Homenum Revelio_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Human-presence-revealing_Spell>

_Sybill Trelawny's First Prophecy:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Sybill_Trelawney's_first_prophecy>

_Lily Potter's Sacrifice:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Attack_at_Godric's_Hollow_(1981)>

_"I hate you." from Maleficent, (2014)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=u8e759ibuk8>

_I put her to a final sleep_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Euthanasia>

_My good friend_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Newton_Scamander>

_Acromantula_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Acromantula>


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Sexual content in this chapter.**

“Have you seen my broomstick?” a voice demanded from the second floor.

“For the sixth time no, Potter.”

“I can't believe I left it at school.” came the anguished reply.

“Finally out of denial?” Riddle remarked.

Riddle and Harry were out in the yard, enjoying the summer breeze as the third occupant of the home cursed and stalked through the kitchen. It was the second week into the summer holiday, and they had the fortunate luck of a bright, sunny day to relax in the garden. Together, they watched Tom Potter stalk through the two story house, fixated on finding a broomstick that hadn't made it home.

“I might have made the team this year if I practiced this summer,” Tom complained, flopping into a lawn chair near the other two after a fruitless search, “I can't believe I left it at Hogwarts.”

“Well, the good news is it is not going anywhere,” Harry commented, “It will be waiting for you on your return.”

“I wonder if our O.W.L.s scores will show up, at least that could cheer me up.” huffed Tom.

“It will be still be a while, if memory still serves me correctly.”

“How did you do?”

“I wasn't too bad.” Harry replied.

However, Harry was to be proven wrong. Within the hour, two letters careened down to them and fell to the table, a tawny owl hooting and flying overhead. “That was fast.” Harry remarked, watching the two letters spin above the table.

“I'll say!” Tom snatched a letter. “Hogwarts seal, this is it! "  Tom Potter ripped into the letter in excitement, pulling out the parchment.

“Are you sure that's-”

“All O'S!” Tom pumped his fist in victory, as he triumphantly displayed the marks on the parchment.

“That's mine.” Riddle sniffed, “Reading not practiced in Gryffindor?”

“What?” Tom blanched, then looked at the heading, where clearly printed was the title of 'TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE'. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“As if you could compare.” Riddle said, only to be whacked over the head with a black wing.

“Why you-” Riddle kicked his leg out under the table, locking it with Harry's. The two began to duel each other under the table, legs kicking out and dodging one another.

Tom only rolled his eyes, grabbing for the other letter still hovering above the table. He felt no need to argue with Riddle. While Riddle had never apologized to him for his behavior the previous semester, Tom had found it in his heart to forgive the other boy.

_I think he was upset I was hanging out with Myrtle._

And Riddle had done him a favour. The girl stayed away from him now, apparently frightened due to Riddle's persistent threats.

_That's probably the reason why I forgave him._ Tom thought self-deprecatingly, as he tore into his letter.

“Wait I.... got all O's as well!” the boy cried in triumph, showing off the letter that displayed the gleaming O's by each subject.

“Well you beat me there.” Harry said, having dumped Riddle on the ground by legwork alone. “Congratulations.”

“They must have sent two letters to me then.” Riddle said, smirking from his position on the ground. “There's no way you got you all O's without my help.”

“As if they want to send any more letters to the tyrant prefect of Slytherin.” Tom commented. “Nope, no official label by my name. So it's mine, officer.”

“Just because I enforce the rules, and you judge.” Riddle sniffed, picking himself up from the ground and re-seating at the table.

“Rules are meant to be broken.” Tom said, folding his arms imperiously.

“Enforced.” responded Riddle.

“Bended.” said Harry.

“What do you mean, bended?”

“I solemnly swear I am not telling you how.” Harry replied.

 

"Amortentia," Professor Slughorn said, tapping the cauldron. "Now class, who can tell me what it is?"

"A love potion." came the reply from behind Tom.

"Very good Mr. Worthington! Five points to Hufflepuff."

Tom was currently in his Potions class, scribbling down notes. Slughorn walked up to the chalkboard, scribbling some notes.

"Now, could someone tell me what it does?"

"It is used to create a powerful infatuation." came a reply from a fellow Gryffindor, Luke Saddle.

"Excellent! Take five points as well, Mr. Saddle," the Professor pointed to the cauldron. "Now, I would like you all to come up here to the cauldron. In threes!" he added hastily, as the classroom rose.

Tom made his way over to the cauldron and stared into it. It shimmered with a mother of pearl colour.

"Now," Professor Slughorn said, gesturing it. "I would like for you smell the cauldron. Lean over it, take a good deep breath."

Tom gave him a curious look, but leaned over it, breathing it in.

_It smells like...flowers._

"To each person," Slughorn said, waving over the cauldron, "The smell is different. Some smell foods, some are items they have fond memories of. Some scents remind people of a..." The man chuckled, tugging the collar of his teacher's robes, "A person that is... _well_....special!"

The class broke out in titters, and Tom suddenly shifted, feeling a scarlet heat rush across his face.

 

"How are your N.E.W.T.s going?"

Riddle was sitting with him out in the courtyard, holding his black journal loosely between his long fingers. Tom was at his side, idly fidgeting with his Gryffindor scarf. The two teenagers were eyeing the falling leaves as they spoke, bright orange colours fluttering in the wind.

"Okay I guess," Tom shrugged, moving the scarf over his left shoulder, "It's not as hard as I thought it would be."

"Same for me." replied Riddle. He then ducked his fingers into the black journal, drawing forth a flyer, “There's Apparition classes being offered."

"Oh, really?" Tom leaned over, looking at it. "That would be a really useful skill to have."

"I figured you might like it." the other teen remarked. The two sat in companionable silence, watching a collection of leaves blow into the nearby corridor.

Tom then gave a sigh, leaning back to observe the bright reds and oranges of the tree they were sitting under, "Have you heard anything about Grindelwald?"

He felt Riddle shift next to him. "About that."

Tom blinked, noticing Riddle was running his fingers up and down the black book. Tom gave him a curious look. "What?"

"Well..." Riddle was looking off now. He then gave a sigh. "Last I read he was moving into Russia."

Tom leaned back. "Yeah, we talked about the Soviet Union in my Muggle studies class. Kind of interesting system they got there, if you think about it."

Riddle gave a roll of his eyes. "Muggles, Tom?"

Tom looked to a falling leaf that had fallen on his long leg. "Well, it's based on socialism. An idea that everybody's equal." he shifted, then, picking up a red leaf to inspect it closer. "I mean it's not a perfect system, nor is it that simple, but there's certainly something to merit in it."

Riddle gave him a scrutinizing look. "Equality? They throw people in gulags."

Tom rolled his eyes. "I didn't say it was perfect."

 

“What's that you got?” said Riddle, seated across the table. The two young men were back at 13 Lavenham place for the holidays, and Tom was palming a small vial between his long fingers at the kitchen table.

“Amortentia,” said Tom, “We brewed and bottled it in Potions. I wanted to show Harry.”

“Really,” said Riddle, raising an eyebrow.

“Show him what.” came the reply from the now opened garden door, where said man made his entrance into the kitchen. As he stepped inside, his large wings shook off a small layer of collected snow, sprinkling the kitchen with sparkles of ice.

_I suppose he's been in the garden_. mused Tom.

“Amortentia,” waved Tom, showing the vial, “Sample size.”

Harry eyed it suspiciously, but approached the two Toms, neon eyes fixed on the bottle. Tom uncorked it, holding it up for the man's inspection. “What do you smell?” the teen asked, curious.

The wings gently flapped out, creating a small gust of air as he leaned over, nose and lips above the uncorked vial. Harry inhaled, then slowly exhaled, a rare feat from him. The man's eyes flicked up to Tom's, green and black locking with his own. “Pines.” he said, finally.

“Like, the trees?” asked Tom, lowering the vial. Harry nodded again, stepping backwards, eyes unfocused. “Yes...like the trees.” he said. The man rocked on the balls of his feet, lost in some memory. He then finally walked off, wings arched behind him. The teens were again alone by themselves, with Riddle reaching over, tapping the bottom of Tom's vial.

“So are you going to put it in his tea?” said Riddle, blunt as ever.

“No, you git,” said Tom, moving it away protectively, “I'm putting it in yours.”

 

"Happy Christmas to us!" Tom said, pleased.

The three men sat the table, as Harry leaned over and displayed a treacle tart that had a small Christmas tree decorated in frosting on it. While him and Riddle hadn't exchanged gifts this year, Harry had surprised them all with a tart for the holiday.

"Did you bake this?" inquired Tom, as he helped himself to another slice.

The man shook his head. "Miss Bagshot did it for me. She likes me." 

Tom rubbed the back of his head, feeling an irritation. "Oh, is that right?" he grumbled.

Riddle was eating his own treacle tart, but then he paused, slowly lowering his fork to the table. His grey eyes focused intensely on Harry.

Harry shrugged, his neon eyes looking to Riddle. "I do not feel the same."

_What's that about?_ Tom thought crossly, as Riddle went back to eating.

 

_Seventeen years old today..._ thought Tom Riddle.

It was the evening of December 31st. Tom Potter had gone to bed, but Riddle was lingering outside the black door, fidgeting.

He rapped on it.

"Harry? You in there?"

The black door slowly creaked open on its own force, and Riddle swallowed, nervously.

"Do come in." came the flat voice.

Riddle paced into the room, and found Harry sitting on his bed, black wings stretched out around him. He was shirtless, wearing only black silk pants.

"Uh...." Tom Riddle stared at the pale flesh, mesmerized.

"It is your birthday, Tom Marvolo Riddle." The neon eyes focused on him intently, "What would you like?"

A warm feeling was crawling up his belly.

"I uh..." he stammered.

The black wings flapped out, aggressively. Tom's grey eyes darted to them.

"I want you." Riddle blurted.

Harry's neon eyes half lidded, as he tilted his head to the side, giving Tom a pensive look. "I sense your lust."

Riddle licked his lips, feeling a sudden urge take him, "That's right, Harry Potter."

The door slammed behind him with a vicious _CRACK._ Riddle could hear it lock.

Harry then rose from the bed, stalking over to him. The black wings came forward and wrapped themselves around the younger man, feathers sliding against his skin. The teen then dipped his head down bit the man's lip softly, eliciting a groan from Harry. Tom then slid his tongue inside, meeting the other's in a dance.

Harry's arms encircled the back of his neck as their tongues dueled each other. This continued for a few minutes until Tom decided to stroke the insides of Harry's mouth with his tongue, coaxing it open wider. When it had opened to Tom's satisfaction, he then pulled back to kiss Harry's chin, peppering more kisses downwards to reach Harry's throat.

Riddle began to nuzzle the spot with his nose and mouth, alternating between kissing and biting.  "Nnnn..." said Harry.

Riddle bent lower to suck a pale, dusky nipple into his hot mouth. The man embraced Riddle's head, holding him against his pale chest. Tom Riddle swirled his tongue, rolling the nub between his teeth and gently biting.

They remained that way for several minutes, until Tom's leg bumped into a rather prominent bulge. Riddle gave a wicked smirk, and ran long fingers up the inside of Harry's thigh, dancing around the prodding area. He could feel liquid leaking from the front of the man's silk pants.

"Let me see." teased Tom Riddle, dipping down to kiss above Harry's waist, fingers sliding into the pants as he knelt before him. Harry wriggled his hips, assisting Riddle in pulling off his trousers. He was wearing red boxers underneath, and the front was clearly dampened in Harry's excitement.

Riddle slid a finger into the underside of the boxers, to dip his fingers in the fluid staining underneath. He pulled it back, eyeing the white, sticky substance between his index and middle finger.

"Let's see if tastes as good as it looks." Tom then coyly stuck the fingers into his mouth, bobbing his head in a clear demonstration of his oral talents. Harry let out a breathy swear.

"Take your shirt off, Riddle." he demanded. Tom's eyes danced in amusement, but he pulled his shirt off, exposing his skin. "Now the pants." Harry said.

"Not till I get another taste." Tom murmured, surging forward from his kneeling position to bury his head in Harry's crotch.

"God..Riddle..!" choked the man, his black wings flapping out vigorously. Tom cupped Harry's round bottom as he mouthed the erection underneath the boxers, alternating between squeezing the glutes and nipping the clothed member.

"I'm going to explode if you don't stop." wheezed Harry.

"Has it been that long?" said Tom Riddle smugly, "Or am I just that good?"

"You are incorrigible."

"Oh, I know." Riddle then stood up. "Take your boxers off and get on the bed."

"When do I get my turn?" said the man.

"Later, when I'm done having my wicked way with you, Harry Potter." The winged man then took off his boxers, slowly moving down to the bed.

Riddle shrugged his own pants and boxers off then, letting them pool around his long legs. He waited until Harry had fully reclined on the bed, black wings tucked underneath. Riddle gave his own hard member a few tugs as he climbed on the bed, feeling wetness between his fingers.

"Let me-" said Harry reaching out. Tom swatted his hand away.

"You stay put."

Harry let out a disgruntled noise, but did as he was told, leaning back on the pillows. Tom moved over him until he was resting in between his legs, arms wrapped around the man's middle. Harry was watching him with his electric eyes, and Riddle licked his lips.

"Now I want to you to keep your eyes open," said Tom Riddle.

"You do not have to." said Harry softly.

"I want to." And with that, Tom dipped his head down, pick tongue extended to swirl around the head of Harry's erect member, purposefully keeping his eyes locked on Harry.

Harry flinched, but true to Riddle's demand, kept his black scelera eyes open. The neon eyes focused on Tom's mouth, which sucked at the tip, then dipped down to begin to suck the flesh further into the warm wet.

"N...n.." said Harry, eyes squinting. Tom swallowed then, the erect organ tickling the back of his throat. Then Riddle began to bob his head up and down, to a steady rhythm. Harry's hips came up thrusting , causing Tom to gag. The teen pushed Harry's hips down to allow himself a moment to breathe.

Tom tried relaxing his throat, and descended back down. Harry held down with Riddle's help as the teen began renewing his lavish attention on the hard organ. After a few minutes of near perfect stimulation, Tom's mouth was flooded with the man's fluid.

Tom Riddle sat back, wiping the corner of his mouth with his wrist. Harry looked thoroughly debauched, but despite it, was not breathing hard as what was expected of someone having just experienced oral sex.

"You never breathe." Riddle complained.

 Harry gave him a smug look. "I can think of a good use for that talent." Now he was eyeing Tom's member.

"Later," said Riddle. He reached over to the side of the bed to his robes to fish out his wand. "We are doing this first." The teen then inched over, waving the wand over his fingers with a quick non-verbal spell. They were instantly coated in a smooth, clear liquid substance.

_Smells like cherries_ , Riddle mused.

"They teach that in Slytherin?"

"You don't think I'd come up with some handy spells on my own?"

Now Harry was giving him a bemused look. "Are you telling me you came up with your own sex spells?"

"Maybe. You be the judge." Riddle then lowered his hand to the man's bottom, between the globes of pale skin. He dragged his fingers up into the softer flesh of his opening. Tom Riddle could feel himself shake in anticipation.

"Relax." said Harry. Tom looked up at him, bravado coating the nervousness he felt. "I'm about to stick my fingers in you and you are telling me to relax?"

Harry leaned up, placing a cool palm to his cheek, and kissed him. Riddle returned the kiss, hovering over the man's body. They mouthed each other for a few minutes, but an insistent press of his own hardness against the man's thigh brought him back to the current reality.

Tom Riddle broke the kiss and looked down to watch his long finger slide inside Harry. Harry bucked up his hips. "More." 

Riddle obliged him, sticking in a second, then a third finger, scissoring them slowly open. The man's spent member was also coming back to life, Riddle was pleased to note.

Riddle then curved his fingers, and Harry gave a ferocious buck at that, black wings flapping up and whisking Tom around the head. "If you knock me out with your wings..." Tom Riddle warned.

"I need more than your fingers," growled the man. He flapped his wings out in insistence.

"Pushy little thing." Tom chided, but withdrew his slicked fingers, quickly coating his own erection in the fluid. He then crawled over Harry, lining his hardness with the man's opening.

"Ready?" he said, breathing over Harry's mouth as he hooked the man's legs around his hips.

"Yesss... I am ready for you, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Tom pushed forward, his member sliding into the cooler body.  "Oh..." said Riddle, hips giving a half-stutter.

"Yes..." said Harry, rocking his lower body upwards. Riddle gave another moan. “Doesn’t that feel good?" said Harry, "My body around yours? Like a perfect glove. And if I do this..."  The man's opening suddenly squeezed.

Tom let out a swear as he increased his thrusts. "Nn..ohgod."

"Just keep moving, in and in, that's right," Harry whispered.

"I'm going to come," Riddle moaned, thrusting wildly, sweat slicked hands running up and down Harry's cool thighs.

"Inside me." Harry urged, knees coming around Tom Riddle's torso, bringing him closer down.

Riddle kept his hips thrusting in and out of that slick, cool entrance. Before long, he gave another cry, and surged his hips downwards, feeling his member expel semen deep inside Harry.

Harry's legs gently wrapped around Tom's exhausted body, lowering him down to lay on top on his chest. Riddle blinked his eyes, exhaustion waving over him. "That was..." he sighed.

"I know." said Harry. His pale forearms came up to encircle Tom Riddle's head, a hand carding through Tom's dark locks. "Sleep for a while. I will be here."

Riddle yawned at that gesture, lowering his head to rest on Harry's sternum. He was still inside the other man, but he had no intention of moving. Eventually though, biology won out, and his soft member slipped out. But he was long asleep when that happened. 

Harry Potter gently shifted Tom's Riddle's body up until he held him in his arms. He softly peppered kisses against the sleeping teenager's closed eyes and temple in a gentle rhythm.

 As soon as Riddle was in a position he liked, Harry moved his head to bury it in his hair. He held the younger man close for the remainder of the evening, only shifting to allow a large black wing to stretch over their bodies.

 

** Sources: **

_Sixth Year:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Sixth_year>

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Harry_Potter_and_the_Half-Blood_Prince>

_Amortentia:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Amortentia>

_Last I heard..._

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eastern_Front_(World_War_II)>

_Socialism_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Socialism>

_Gulags_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gulag>


	11. Chapter 11

Tom was sitting in the Gryffindor common room, his Defense Against the Dark Arts book propped against his legs.

 _I have got to prepare myself for Grindelwald._ He mused, flipping through the pages. Tom began to pen in a note, when a clearing of a throat interrupted his thoughts.

"I heard you have a broomstick, Potter."

Tom blinked, looking up to the speaker. It was the Gryffindor Quidditch captain.

"Yeah...?" he shrugged. Occasionally he would take his broom out to the Quidditch pitch to fly, but as the workload of N.E.W.T.s progressed, he had found himself less and less able to get out there and actually use it.

"Saddle's our Seeker. He got Scofungulus last week." The boy's brown eyes looked him over. "You think you could to fill in for him?"

"I'd rather be a Chaser." Tom remarked, lowering his quill. The Captain lifted an eyebrow.

"It's only a practice match Potter, we're not sticking you in a real game."

 

 _Here we go._ thought Tom, as the Captain singled to the squad.

Tom rose on the broomstick, soaring into the sky. It was a cloudy Thursday, and the Gryffindor Quidditch team practice was in full swing. Tom watched as the Gryffindor captain bent down to the box containing the balls. Within seconds, out unleashed the two bludgers with a _ZOOM_ and the _HISS_ of the snitch behind them.

“Let's go, Gryffindor!” the captain roared, pumping his fist in salute as he rose on his broom. “Potter, you find that snitch!”

“Right...” he said, watching enviously as the Chasers rushed to the goalposts, tossing the Quaffle in between the hoops. Tom then shook his head, refocusing on the sky above.

 _I have to find the snitch..._  he soared around the pitch in a series of loops, only near missing the blow of a Beater's bat on his fourth loop.

“Watch it!” called the beater, a heavy set boy with ebony skin.

“Sorry,” replied Tom, ducking his head in embarrassment. He didn't have to wait long, as suddenly the Gryffindor keeper yelled at him from her posts.

“The snitch, Potter!” she cried, wildly gesturing to the leftmost post. Tom saw a glint of gold. With a determined growl, he shot forward on his broom. However, the snitch veered quickly away, climbing upwards into the sky. The teen climbed after it, his long fingers grasping madly after the fluttering wings.

Soon Tom found himself far above the pitch, only the wisps of grey clouds littering the sky. The snitch kept going up. With clenched teeth he lunged forward to the snitch and managed to capture it.

However, he managed to let go of his broomstick.

“AHHHHHH!”

Tom was then falling freely in the air as his broom careened away. He let out a yelp as he fell down in the air, the pitch becoming ever closer as his body fell towards the earth.

“Corpus leviosa!” He yelled, fumbling for his wand tucked into his uniform.

Fortunately, the Chasers were quicker. Tom was swiftly grabbed by both of the chasers, and they held him aloft between their two brooms. The three were suspended mid-air in the sky, the two players maintaining death grips on Tom's arms, spread-eagled out.

Tom noticed his missing broomstick in the hands of the Gryffindor beater from earlier, who was making his way towards them. The beater was shaking his head in disbelief.

_At least my broomsticks' still intact._

“Potter, are you nuts?” cried the Chaser to his right, interrupting his thoughts. “You could have been killed!”

“I got it, didn't I?” Tom said cheekily, waving the snitch in his clenched fist. “Had this been a match, we would have won! We can make this into a technique...and call it the _Potter feint_.”

“I say we drop him,” replied the opposite Chaser sourly.

 

 

“ _Venomus Tentacula._ ” the herbology professor, Professor Beery, introduced.

Tom and Riddle were paired as usual in Herbology class, and the two were trying to provoke the plant to each others detriment. The plant itself was weaving back and forth like a snake before a snake charmer, showing off pointed fangs.

“If this grabs you, it'll kill you, you know,” Tom advised. He began poking the plant with the tip of his wand as to make it reach out towards the other boy. The plant let out a squelch, the mouth of the plant reaching out to Tom Riddle with a hiss.

“Same goes for you.” Riddle whispered back, leaning back and extending his wand hand. He quietly whispered a spell as the plant made to duck towards Tom.

“First one to get it to spit out a spore gets 10 galleons.” Tom said under his breath, shifting as to move away from a wandering vine, as he prodded the plant with his own wand.

“Now class, I would like for you to observe-” Professor Beery started.

A spiky spore ball came careening from Tom's insistent prodding, and the class broke out in terrified yelps as it sailed through a window, shattering the glass.

“Not even a scratch.” gloated Riddle as Tom scowled.

“Ah-hem.” the professor stood in front of them, arms crossed. “Mr. Potter?”

“He did it?” Tom said weakly.

 

“This is called a what again?”

Tom and Riddle stood together by the gamekeepers’ hut, a sunny afternoon where, unlike their classmates, they were in the midst of serving out detention. The detention consisted of feeding, cleaning, and watering the various animals kept in pens behind the cottage.

“At this rate of your detentions, you'll be the next gamekeeper,” Riddle replied. “And to answer your question, this is a puffskein.”

“This is only the second detention Tom, I don't think that's enough to get me gamekeeper.”

The puffskein rolled around the ground in excitement, letting out small pitiful meeps as Tom's hand ducked down closer to its head. The two teens stared in equivalent revulsion.

“What a stupid noise.” Riddle commented, sprinkling the small crystals into its pen. The small, furred creature let another whoop, and descended on the crystals, hungrily devouring the pile. “Who would want one of these things?” he added.

“A girl might.” Tom said, watching the puffskein finish its food and looking up to them with hopeful eyes. “Especially in this shade of pink.”

“You got another girlfriend, Potter?”

“You know me, I can't stay single,” Tom countered, rolling his eyes. “Speaking of disliked animals, last time I was out here, there were chickens.” Tom turned away from the small pen, as if to identify the birds before them. “I see their coop...but they're all gone.”

“Perhaps they were eaten.” Riddle replied. “That tends to happen with chickens.”

“By what? There were a lot of chickens, nobody consumes that much poultry in so little time. What could have killed off all of Ogg's chickens?”

“The giant spider could have done it.” Riddle said quickly.

“Oh, I'd already forgotten about that. Spiders will eat chickens?”

“It was big enough.”

“Speaking of giant spiders, I heard Hagrid's coming back this week,” Tom remarked later on, as they made their way back up to the castle, having finished their shared punishment.

“He should have been expelled,” groused Riddle, “I cannot believe they allowed him back at Hogwarts.”

“Why the grudge? Did he ever set the spider on you?” Tom said, lifting an eyebrow.

“Do I look petrified to you?” Riddle rolled his eyes as they approached the main gates of Hogwarts. “It's for safety. He'll bring another dangerous beast in here and kill a student.”

“I doubt it.” Tom pushed the door open, nary a second too soon- a light drizzle of rain had begun to fall. “It's too risky with his ambition to be a dragon keeper- he wouldn't risk losing his chances again.”

“That oaf deserves it,” Riddle sniffed, “If I was in charge, he'd be gone.”

“Remind me to never recommend you as headmaster, you'd expel everybody.”

“Someone competent needs to run this school.” Riddle slicked a hand through his hair. “I could do it.”

“Don't tell the headmaster you are going for his job!”

“Not yet, anyway.” Riddle replied.

 

The two young men made their way up the stairs of 13 Lavenham place, trunks in tow as the summer holidays had once again restarted.

“I wish we could have Apparated here.” Tom complained, dragging a huge suitcase behind him.

“One more year to go, then we'll be able to.” Riddle replied, reaching over into Tom's pocket to deftly fetch the door key.

“You really have moved in.” joked Tom, as Riddle palmed the silver key, twisting it into the door. “Next will be your wedding here.”

Riddle stopped short, a dark look on his face. “Are you being hopeful, Potter, because I am ready to disappoint you.”

“Oh please.” Tom pushed his way past Riddle. “Somebody told me you were marrying Walburga. This is old news.”

“A stupid rumor which sadly still persist,.” Riddle stepped into the house, “Apparently, some of the junior students don't mind detention as much as I thought they would.”

“All this prefect nonsense... I can only imagine you'll be insufferable as Head Boy.”

“Now what makes you so sure I will be Head Boy?”

“Because Slughorn fawns over you. Maybe that will be your wedding. You and Professor Slughorn.”

“Potter, there is only one person I-”

“Welcome back home,” came the familiar voice from the kitchen, and both the young men fell silent. Tom stuck his tongue out at Riddle, walking confidently into the room.

“Harry!” Tom swirled into the room, giving his caretaker a friendly clout on the shoulder. “Like the robes? I bought them custom made this semester.”

“Very handsome.” the man replied, while Tom beamed in pride. Riddle strode in a moment after, only pausing to give Harry a small nod.

“And Tom Riddle.” Harry said, neon eyes fixated on the other.

“The one and only.” said Riddle, grey eyes meeting the black and green.

Tom rolled his eyes, moving past the two towards the pantry area. With a quick turn of his hand, he pulled one of the pantry closets open, showering him in a mix of dust and cobwebs. Tom coughed, waving the flying particles around.

“We're out of food.” Tom said, wiping the layer of dust from his face.

“I apologize,” Harry replied. “I forget the need to eat. Would you like me to go fetch us some for dinner?”

“Nah, I'll go.” Tom said with a shrug, shutting the pantry door. He made his way over to the opposite of the kitchen, until he stopped in front of a small side-drawer near the door. Pulling the handle, Tom dug into the bottom of the drawer. A mere seconds later had him drawing out a wad of Muggle currency.

Tom grabbed the money, counting it in his hand. Once he had a satisfactory amount, he replaced the remainder of the currency into the drawer. As he shut the drawer door, he called over his shoulder. “Hey Riddle, want to experience a Muggle grocer?”

“I want to unpack.” Riddle replied, eyes darting from staring at Harry to Tom.

“You can always do it later.” grumbled Tom, turning to face the two.

“I am doing it now.” Riddle insisted.

“Fine then, your loss.”

Tom made his way over to the doorway leading out of the kitchen, looking to the other two occupants briefly. “Any special requests before I go out?”

“Fish and chips.” Riddle requested.

“Treacle tart.” added Harry. At the stares, he shrugged. “I do not have to eat it to enjoy it.”

Tom stepped through doorway leading out of the kitchen. “Well then, I'm off. Unpack my bags too if you get bored.” Tom said.

“Unlikely, Potter.”

The two in the kitchen fell silent, the only noise the footsteps of Tom Potter echoing out of the house. Tom approached the mahogany door leading out of their home. “I'm off!” he called, “Last chance!”

Nobody responded.

 _I hope at the least he brings my things upstairs._ Tom thought to himself. _Since they're not even talking to each other._ He shut the door behind him, and with that final thought, walked down the street as he whistled to himself.

Meanwhile, back inside the house, a clock ticked merrily away above the sink, the sound near deafening in the utter silence of the room. The two remaining individuals stared at each other from across the room. A voice broke the silence.

“He's gone.”

It was hard to say exactly who moved first, but within seconds Tom Riddle found himself no longer standing alone. Instead, he was now passionately kissing Harry, quickly closing the gap between them. Riddle gasped between breaths, as their lips brushed each other hungrily.

“I.. _ah_... missed you.” Riddle's arms trapped Harry's own, while the man's black wings drew about them both, pulling them even closer.

Harry gave him a small smile. He then pushed his lips against Riddle's own, and their tongues began caressing each other in an insistent, familiar pattern. Minutes passed, the only movement their mouths against each other, while Harry's pale hand began to caress Riddle's back.

“Shall we... _sss_... take this upstairs?” Riddle gasped again, as Harry's hand traveled lower down his spine.

“Is that necessary, to go upstairs?” Harry replied, caressing Tom's lower back and peppering kisses over Riddle's lips as he spoke. “I can think of alternatives. What do you think?”

“I could fuck you on the table.” Riddle suggested, gesturing towards said piece of furniture.

Harry then stopped his ministrations. The man slowly backed away from Tom Riddle's embrace, wings fanning out as he leaned back and sized the other up. “Vulgar way of putting it.” Harry chided, tilting his head to the side and giving Riddle an indecipherable look.

 _I said the wrong thing,_ Riddle thought anxiously. He lifted his hands into the air as an attempt to pacify his partner. “What I mean is, Harry-”

“Who says _you_ are fucking _me_ on the table?” Harry interrupted.

“Pardon?” Riddle said, confused.

“Against on the table, on your elbows. I'll show you.”

True to his word, Harry showed him. While it was somewhat uncomfortable to the preferred dominant Tom Riddle, it made for a rather unforgettable experience.

 

“Why do you keep shifting around in your chair?” Tom asked later that evening, over a handsome selection of fish and treacle tart.

“None of your bloody business.” replied Riddle, wincing and grabbing for more chips.

 

** Sources: **

_Scrofungulus_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Scrofungulus>

_Quidditch_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Quidditch>

_Chasers_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Chaser>

_Seekers_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Seeker>

_Venomus Tentacula_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Venomous_Tentacula>

_Puffskein_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Puffskein>


	12. Chapter 12

_This might have the potential to be the best summer yet._  mused Tom. For starters, he had made Head Boy, alongside Riddle.

"Head Boy!" he crowed, pumping a fist in victory as he clutched his letter.

"That is the twelfth time you've told me, Potter, I am Head Boy too." said Riddle, rolling his eyes from where he was sitting at the table in the kitchen.

Tom then looked for his guardian, eager to share his excitement; "Is Harry around?"

Riddle then drew long fingers to his short dark hair, tucking it behind his ear as he looked down to the table. "I think he's out."

"Hm." Tom sat down, "I wonder where he goes."

"Somewhere..." trailed Riddle. He then folded his hands together. "I wanted to talk to you, Potter."

_Are you going to apologize for last semester?_ thought Tom hopefully.

"About our father."

_Fine then._

"What about him?" Tom said, placing his letter on the kitchen table.

"Well...." Riddle leaned forward. "We know he's a Muggle."

Tom felt his face fall. "Yes, I know how you feel about Muggles."

Riddle ignored him. "He lives in Little Hangleton."

_Right, I've heard this one too._

"And...?"

"My...mother's family lives there too." Riddle said hesitantly.

_Oh._

"You want to find out about her?" Tom said sympathetically.

"I'd like to find out more about them," Riddle agreed. "And..."

"And?"

Riddle fidgeted, tapping his fingers together. "Perhaps we could find out about...your mother."

_Is he asking me to go with him?_

Tom looked to his own long fingers, which were crossed together. _I could know her name..._

He looked into the grey.

"When did you want to go?"

 

_This place is a dump._

After arriving in Little Hangleton, the two young men made their way to the outskirts of town. (“ _Might as well work our way inwards_ ,” _Riddle had commented_.) They had come across a clearing of weeds and other debris, until they arrived at their destination. Tom now was standing outside a dilapidated shack, rocking back and forth on his feet. He had originally made to go after Riddle, but the other boy had dismissed him.

"They're not your family, Potter." he had said, giving him a wave and striding in. Now, Tom Potter was alone.  He wandered around the yard, in boredom. He eyed the dead snake tacked on the door.

_That’s creepy._

The boy turned to face out to the dark trees, then turned his gaze upwards. The sky was typical English weather, dark, and cloudy. This usually did not bother Tom Potter, given the climate of his homeland. But today, the dark clouds had an ominous look to them. Feeling uncomfortable, he made to turn back to the shack- and heard the slam of a door. Riddle stalked out, hands in his pockets.

"How'd it go?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Riddle said irritably.

"That bad, huh? What did they tell you?"

"Nothing I didn't already know,” he replied, curtly.

The two young men walked together up towards the town in silence. Tom breathed in the cool air. A light breeze started up, and he shrugged into his overcoat, feeling a chill.

Riddle paused for a moment, gesturing to a tall, dark building that rose on a hill before them. "He lives in that Manor."

 

They walked towards the manor for a few more minutes, another blast of wind chasing them up to the large gateway, which loomed ominously before them. Black spikes greeted the two boys, jutting out viciously into the sky. The gate was opened, yet devoid of any life, save some ugly hedges in structured rows, leading to the door.

Tom swallowed. “This is it?”

Riddle didn’t answer, instead purposefully striding forward, pebble rocks kicking up with his movement. Tom sighed, following Riddle until they ascended up to the Riddle house’s large, imposing mahogany door. Said door was emblazoned with a _R_ in the centre. A mailbox, immaculate save a large scratch over the ‘ _Riddle_ ’ insignia, was nearby. The two stood side-by-side, shoulder to shoulder.

"Will you do the honours?" Tom said, shoving his long fingers in his pockets.

"Together." Riddle responded, grey eyes looking at him. Another sigh. Then, the two boys knocked on the door.

No answer.

"Uh..." Tom said, fidgeting. "I think they're not home."

"They are." Riddle replied. He looked to the elaborate door handle. "I can solve that problem."

"How?"

Riddle drew forth a tarnished lock pick from his pockets. With a quick thrust, he shoved it into the door. Tom Riddle began to wiggle the lock, shoulders shoving against the door as he forced the mechanism.

"What are you doing!?" hissed Tom. The door lock wriggled, buckled, and clicked. But then Riddle shoved his body into the lock, and it broke.

"I'm not waiting." Riddle said coolly. The grey eyes lingered on Tom’s face, as his long fingers went for the doorknob. "Scared Potter?"

"You are impossible." Tom grumbled.

Riddle then opened the door, and it creaked loudly as it swung open. The hallway in front of them was immense, dark- with elaborate paintings and sofas lining the pathway. Riddle stepped into the house; shoulders stiffened. His grey eyes darted around the room. Tom then entered after him, shutting the door behind him with a loud _CREAK_.

Riddle strode forward down the dark hallway, and Tom followed. The teen lifted his head to the ceiling, seeing _R_ s intricately carved in white plaster.

"He's pretty wealthy." commented Tom, observing the individually sculpted _Rs_.

Riddle did not reply. The two boys walked for several more minutes down the dark hallway, until they saw the expanse of a large drawing room. Tom could see three figures sitting around a large fireplace, deep in conversation. Riddle strode forwards then into the room. His face took a dark turn. "Are you Tom Riddle?"

The conversation died.

A handsome man rose from one of the seats, and Tom sucked in a breath.

_We look...just like him._

"Who are you and how did you get in our house?" The man demanded, the other two figures remaining silent. He stared at the boys.

"Oh, I think you know very well who _I_ am. " hissed Riddle. The boy suddenly drew forth an unfamiliar wand.

"Tom!" the other boy exclaimed, his heart pounding, "Where did you get that?"

Riddle ignored him. "I am your son. The very one you abandoned with my mother. "

The man stared at him, his lip curling. "I have no son," he sneered. "That woman hoodwinked me." Sparks shot out of Riddle's wand. The man stared at this.

"You left her to die." Riddle growled, raising his wand.

"No Tom!" The other boy barked, grabbing his wrist. The man stared at him as well. Tom held onto Riddle's wrist, likewise staring at the man. "I'm your son too."

 The man gave him an equally dismissive look. "Another brat? That is impossible. The only other woman was Cecilia, who left me after-”

"Who is Cecilia?" Tom interrupted, long fingers releasing Riddle's wrist, "Is that my mother?"

The man scoffed. "I have no idea who your mother is, boy." His long fingers went to a box that was on a nearby table, eyes still focused on the teens, "But I know you both are bastards."

Tom released Riddle's wrist slowly. "What...did you say?"

The man snorted. "You heard me."

"How garish their clothes are," said the woman seated behind Tom Riddle senior. She gave the boys a similar look as the senior Riddle, "You scum are not welcome here."

The senior man seated next to her, likewise snorted, "They both should have been aborted by their mothers."

Tom's breaths became faster and faster. "My mother...killed  herself because of you." he growled, his heart rate increasing.

"That's where you are wrong boy," the man said, long fingers creeping into the box. "If she killed herself, it was because of that boy there." He gestured to Riddle.

Riddle froze. Tom felt his back stiffen.

"What?" said Tom.

The man did not reply. Instead he had drawn forth a small pistol, and rose from the chair, aiming it towards them.

"Now both of you get out," he said, thumb over the pistol's hammer, "I don't have time for bastards."

Tom let out a low growl as Riddle continued to stare blankly.

"Riddle..." Tom heard himself say, "Give me the wand."

 

The maid entered the Riddle manor the next morning, looking for the three Riddle family members. As it was, there was no sign of the family, so she made her way down the long hallway, looking for her clients in earnest.

"Mrs. Riddle?" she called, a basket of goods underneath her arm. "Mr. Riddle?"

A low moan echoed from the drawing room. The woman dropped her goods.

"Oh my!" she ran over to the three strewn figures, who were all spasming on the ground. She began to shake the closest one.

"Hurtss...." moaned the man, then letting out a half-giggle, "Oh, you bitch, stop touching me."

 

Tom sat out in the garden. His guardian was with him.

"You and Tom Riddle have been feeling distressed for days." Harry said. "What happened?"

The boy looked off. "I don't want to talk about it."

The man shifted, his large wings stretching out. A long silence followed.

"You two then should talk it out amongst yourselves, if you do not wish to speak to me." he finally replied.

Tom raised his eyes up to the second story window where Riddle had been hiding out. "I guess."

The man gave him another look. He let out a sigh, but then walked into the house, his black wings arched behind him.

 

_The two had set back for the Gaunt shack after their visit to the Riddles. Tom had been dragged half-shaking by Riddle._

_"Just stay here Tom." the other boy had said to him. "I'll take care of this."_

_"Your fault..." said Tom. Riddle froze._

_"I..." the grey eyes looked to him. "I will fix it."_

_The boy had taken the wand from Tom and entered in the shack._

_Because of you...._ the boy had thought as Riddle left him. _Because of you...._

_Then he had thrown up._

 

Tom stared at the ground, closing his eyes in memory. He sensed someone standing before him.

"Tom." the other boy said quietly.

"Riddle."

"Harry just talked to me."

"Did he?" Tom said, still staring at the ground. "What did he say?"

"He told me to talk with you." The other boy sat down at the garden table. He had something in his hands.

"I don't want to talk."

"Look..." Riddle sighed. "I am..." he fidgeted.

"A bastard too?" echoed Tom.

Riddle closed his eyes, and the two sat in silence. "I want to give you something."

"What."

The boy took out a black ring. "This was ....my family's."

Now Tom stared. "I don't want anything to do with your family." he snapped. Riddle flinched, drawing back his hand.

"I tortured them." Tom said blankly. "I should go to Azkaban."

"They deserved it." Riddle replied softly. "They all did."

Tom let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "What did you do then? When we went back to your family's place?"

"I changed my uncle's memories." Now Riddle was staring at the table. "He thinks he did it."

"Oh," Tom shifted, uncomfortably. "Why did you do that?"

Riddle stood up, looking down. "You're my brother."

He left Tom alone in the garden, lost in his thoughts.

 

** Sources: **

_This place is a dump_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Gaunt_shack>

_The boys visit the Riddles_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Murder_of_the_Riddle_family>

_Merope:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Merope_Riddle>

_Cecilia_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Cecilia>

_Ring_

<https://harry-potter-compendium.fandom.com/wiki/Marvolo_Gaunt%27s_Ring>

_Attack Inspiration: 28 Days Later- Don Abandons Alice (2003)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I6qdacPH81A>

_Notes to:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Attack_on_Frank_and_Alice_Longbottom>


	13. Chapter 13

“Muggles conduct Airborne operations in Holland, disrupting Dutch Ministry of Magic regulated airspace for broom flying. Dutch wizards and witches are encouraged to remain in their homes as this assault progresses.”

Tom sighed, dropping the newspaper to the train table. He briefly glanced at his reflection, eyes darting to his unadorned chest. Tom then picked up a small pin that was resting on the table, which embossed in pewter was etched 'Head Boy.'

“Nothing on Grindelwald.” he muttered to himself, pinning the badge to his chest.

_Speaking of deplorables, perhaps I should check on the Slytherin carriage._

Tom stood up and walked the length of the train. He murmured various greetings to the other students as he made his way down. _I still can't believe I was made Head Boy._

Apparently, it had been a last-minute decision according to his counterpart, the Head Girl.

“The other boy was caught sneaking into Hogsmeade last semester and was demoted back to a prefect.” the girl had mentioned, as by way in greeting. Tom's pride had deflated a bit in the knowledge he was second choice and yet-

_How had he gotten in Hogsmeade in the first place?_

Making a mental note to track down said previous Head Boy, he opened the door on the train separating the Gryffindor and Slytherin cars.

“Riddle?” he said by way of greeting.

The Slytherin car was mostly second and third years, and by looks of them-

 _They grow taller every year_. marveled Tom. Despite this being his last and final year at Hogwarts, he had never felt the years go by.

 _Soon I'll graduate and then I'll become an Auror._ he thought to himself pleasantly.

“He's in the Ravenclaw car.” a first-year boy said, sitting alongside a third-year girl whom looked like a sibling.

Tom swallowed nervously. Despite having seen barely a trace of Myrtle Warren since their ended friendship, the fear of the awkward reunion that might occur slowed his tracks.

“Fine... tell him I'm looking for him.”

“Looking for me?” came a familiar voice.

Tom Riddle strode into the car, a Head Boy pin likewise stuck on his chest. Tom gave a nod to the other, and the two walked down to the end of the car, side by side, where they sat themselves together.

“I heard from Ravenclaw you were second choice for Head Boy.”

“Is this public knowledge?” Tom felt his ears burn in embarrassment, “Nobody minds their own business at this bloody school.”

Riddle shrugged. “They still made you Head Boy. “

“Says the one who's been prefect, head boy, and-last I heard- being awarded special services to the school.”

“Being awarded? How about awarded, that was ages ago,” Riddle said, “Do keep up.”

“Whatever Minister Riddle.”

“That has a nice ring to it.” mused Tom Riddle.

“You, Minister.”

Riddle leaned back, long fingers tapping on the shared table. “Speaking of which, what career are you considering?”

“Do you have to ask?” Tom replied.

Riddle shrugged. “Last I recall, it was an Auror.”

“That's right,”” Tom leaned forward, “Professor Merrythought told me the Auror recruiters will come towards the end of the school year. I'm going to sign up.”

Riddle frowned then. “Are you sure you still want to be an Auror? It does not seem something you'd be good at, given your skill set and lack of physical exercise.”

Tom glowered at his companion. “Since when are you the expert on who a good Auror candidate is?”

“I think you'd be better suited for education.” Riddle leaned forward. “Teach here. At Hogwarts.”

“Teach what?” scoffed Tom.

“History of Magic.”

“That sounds awfully boring.” Tom said. “Why not Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Riddle then leaned back, crossing his arms loosely across his chest. “Well, that one's taken.”

“By who?”

“By me, of course.”

“You're going to be the Defense teacher?”

“Soon as we let out this year, I am going to ask Professor Dippet. Rumor is Professor Merrythought is retiring.”

“Do you really think they are going to give a fresh-out-of-school student a teaching job?”

“Of course they will. They hired Kettleburn. I'm not about to kill students.”

“Well, you aren't about to kill them,” said Tom with a smirk, “Yet.”

 

“Aragog did'n do it, he was framed!”

“I'm not sleeping above someone who sets monsters on students!” the fourth-year boy argued, pointing a finger towards his opposition.

Tom Potter sighed, standing in between two Gryffindor students. It was evening in Hogwarts, and his first official task as Head Boy was to settle a dispute between the two students. One of them happened to be Rubeus Hagrid.

“Look, there's no more beds in the dormitory, so you'll have to sleep in this bunk whether you like it or not.” Tom said.

“He's dangerous!” complained the student. Hagrid looked in the midst of breaking in tears.

“He'd never hurt anyone, nor woul' I ever-”

The student was having none of it. “I'll wake up and he'll summon a werewolf or a Grim or a Boggart and then we'll all be dead and-

“Alright, this has gone on long enough,” Tom said crossly, interrupting the monologue. “Rubeus, you'll be sleeping under my bunk now. I'll have Anderson move his belongings.”

Hagrid sniffed again.  
  
“Oh, come on.” Tom said, feeling uncomfortable. “Let's just move over and be done with it.”

Hagrid picked up his belongings, which upon Tom's observation, was a beat-up suitcase, a bent cage, and several books that looked second-hand. The two walked over to the other side of the dormitory.

“Anderson, you're now below Springer. Move your belongings.”

The boy sitting on the bed below Tom's let out a disappointed sigh. Thankfully, the third year didn't fuss and shortly dispatched his belongings over to the other side of the room, leaving Tom and Hagrid together in front of the bunk bed.

“Wasn' my fault.” Hagrid muttered, dragging his belongings over to the bed below Tom's. “Wasn' my fault.”

“I suppose you'll need a bigger bed.” Tom fished out his wand, pointing it at the scarlet bedding below. “ _Engorgio._ ”

The bed began to swell up and expand, and after a few seconds Tom lowered his wand. “Look big enough, Rubeus?”

Another sniff.

“Come it off, Hagrid,” Tom started, “Look, you're going to have understand students were scared- “

“Aragog didn' do it, and neither did I!” blurted Hagrid as fat tear drops leaked from his eyes. “Nobody'll talk to me now, and only Professor Dumbledore believed my story!”

“What about gamekeeper Ogg?”

“He thinks I did it too!”

Tom sighed. “Look, you had a dangerous creature which thankfully didn't eat anybody and the worst they did was suspend you. It could have been a lot worse if someone had died.”

“It wasn' him! He'd never! I'd never!” Hagrid implored, wiping his tears and staring beseechingly at Tom, “Never!”

_He really wants me to believe him._

“Look Rubeus, just give it another semester. Something else will happen and everybody will forget about the whole thing. Just focus on school. You still want to be a dragon keeper, right?”

“More tha' anything.” Hagrid said, fishing out a wad of tissues from his coat. The tall boy blew his nose, the noise loudly echoing through the Gryffindor dormitory.

“Then focus on that. The best revenge is living well. Look, I've had two detentions and I still made Head Boy.”

Tom moved to the side of the bed, climbing up the ladder and lying down on his bunk bed, and continued, “So keep your spirits up. It's not all bad.”

Tom felt the bunk beneath him shift, indicating Hagrid had climbed in. Tom stared up at the ceiling, folding his hands over his chest as he stared at the decorated ceiling. He felt himself begin to drift off, when from below a voice uttered:

“I her'd that you was second for Head Boy.”

Tom let out an annoyed snarl, grabbing his pillow and shoving it over his face.

 

_Screams echoed in his mind as he dreamed; every night since that terrible day._

_Tom Potter was standing in the Riddle drawing room, loud exertions of breath escaping him. He did not have any concept of time; nor how long he had subjected them to the Cruciatus, but Riddle was trying to pull him away._

_“Stop Tom!” he had insisted, wrapping his arm around his own- “We need to leave!”_

_Tom ignored him, pressing the wand further down into exacting the curse. The screams only served as fuel to his anger. How they had scorned them, disowned, and invalidated their existence…_

_“You’re killing them!” Riddle barked._

_Tom Potter let his wand arm drop, and stared, as the three people he had just tortured finally stopped screaming. Their eyes were wild, and rolling- like horses escaping a storm._

_“Come on!” Riddle insisted, dragging him away._

_They were crying on the ground, Tom reflected. Agonized cries; anything to stop the pain._

_I did this, he thought._

_I did this………_

 

Tom was making his way out of the Transfiguration classroom as the resident professor, Dumbledore, approached him. Tom, seeing the professor stride forward to him with clear intent on his face, had stopped and waited until the man was standing in front of him.

“A moment of your time Mr. Potter, before you leave.”

“Yes, Professor Dumbledore?”

“First and foremost, I wish to congratulate you on your promotion to Head Boy.” Dumbledore began, giving a nod at the badge pinned on Tom's robes.

“Thank you Professor- and thank you for nominating me to the position.” Tom extended a hand out as if to shake hands, but Dumbledore only raised his hand in a halting gesture.

“Incorrect, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid,” the teacher replied. “Heads of houses are chosen by the Headmaster, not the staff.”

“Oh,” Tom replied, feeling his face flush in embarrassment. “I had assumed you had that ability.”

“You are certainly not the first to make that assumption,” Dumbledore replied. “Nor will you be the last.”

“Right.” Tom edged closer to the door, as if to leave, but Dumbledore shook his head, placing a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Mr. Potter, I did have a question for you, if you had a moment.”

“Yes sir?”

“Are you aware of the circumstances involving the attacks on students in our previous school year?” The blue eyes of the elder man, while covered by spectacles, seemed to penetrate into Tom's vision.

Tom shrugged. '“The spider was caught, sir, and the students restored.”

“Thankfully so,” Dumbledore agreed,” While it was fortunate that the Acromantula was found when it was, the story surrounding it does not add up. Your brother would have met the same fate as the injured students if the spider had the ability to petrify him.”

“My brother?” Tom asked, in confusion, lifting his head up. “What does being petrified have to do with Tom Riddle?”

Dumbledore inclined his head, almost curiously. “Did he not mention that he was the student that had reported the spider?”

“I guess that slipped his mind,” Tom replied, feeling a wash of confusion, “He never mentioned that at all.”

The elder man sighed, taking off his spectacles. “It suggests Tom Riddle would have been petrified by the spider if he had seen it, and it felt threatened. This leads to my next question. Were you at all aware of anything Tom Riddle said or did that might lead into how those very students were petrified?”

“Professor, he wouldn't do anything like that. He is... _was_ a prefect.”

“Wizards in positions of power can abuse those responsibilities. I am only asking on the behalf of the welfare of our students. “

_He suspects Tom...but why?_

“Tom never told me anything,” he finalized, crossing his arms. “He didn't petrify students.”

“I understand your loyalty. You would have been a good student in Hufflepuff. But as your head of house I must warn you about Tom Riddle. He may be your blood relation, but there have been several incidents at this school that I find suspicious that may involve him.”

“I think I know my own brother, Professor.”

“I'm not so sure, Mr. Potter.” Dumbledore replaced his glasses, focusing once again on him, “To be frank, I am concerned for your welfare if half of my suspicions are true.”

“I can handle Tom Riddle, sir.” Tom re-shouldered his bag. “I can't say the same for everyone else.”

 

Tom made his way down the corridor of Hogwarts, having just left Charms.

 _Winter holidays are coming soon..._ he mused, kicking a few dead leaves that had blown into his pathway.

This year, Tom had decided that he wanted to give a gift to his guardian for the Christmas holiday. But for the man who asked for nothing, searching for the perfect gift seemed near impossible.

_He doesn't eat, sleep, and I don't know any hobby he has._

Tom immediately felt a surge of guilt at the last tidbit, and a familiar tug at his heartstrings.

_I'm nearly eighteen and I don't know what to give to Harry. If only Hogsmeade was..._

A spark of inspiration struck him.

 

“Two Head Boys sneaking into Hogsmeade. One can only wonder how many violations we will accomplish if we are caught.”

“Live dangerously, right?” replied Tom.

Tom Potter and Tom Riddle were currently standing in front of a statue of a witch in one of the many corridors of the school. The marble crone had a crooked eye, a hump on her back, and in Tom's opinion, was overall quite ugly.

“He swore this was it.” Tom said, pacing around the statue.

“This is from the student you claimed was reduced to a prefect? What's stopping him from reporting us?” inquired Riddle.

“He said it was on us if we get caught. C'mon, I need a gift for Harry.”

“Just knit him some socks.” Riddle said, rolling his eyes.

“What, are you afraid to go into Hogsmeade?” Tom said, inspecting the statue. He extended his wand out, tapping the base of the statue. “ _Dissendium_.”

“No. I would rather not be expelled my final year of education. But I suppose you do not care about-”

A creaking noise was heard, as the statue of the witch began to slide open at its hump, revealing a passageway. Both the teens fell silent, listening for any potential individuals to detain them. When none came, Riddle stepped back, looking to Tom.

“After you.” Riddle gestured.

 

“This wasn't worth the effort.” Tom complained.

Upon reaching Hogsmeade, the two had discovered most of the stores were shuttered over, old posters warning against air raids taped over clouded windows. The two trudged the length of the main drag, their footsteps creating impressions in the light snow.

“On the bright side, no one is here to report two students violating the ban on Hogsmeade trips,” said Riddle.

“Another year without a gift for Harry.” Tom crossly kicked a drift of snow.

Riddle only walked alongside, hands in his pockets. “Why is it so important now? He doesn't need anything.”

Tom scowled. “You wouldn't get it. He's been my guardian for as long as I can remember, and he's, well...” The teenager felt the beginnings of a flush across his face, and he looked away, lest Riddle tease. “...He deserves a gift.”

“Let's get a butterbeer,” suggested Riddle, "At least we won't have to continue to freeze out here looking at shuttered shops.”

“ _The Three Broomsticks_ won't serve us,” Tom replied. “Soon as they see our uniforms, we'll be busted.”

“No, but I bet _The Hog's Head_ will. Let 's pay a visit.”

The two made their way over, until they had reached the entrance way of the pub, a small sign indicating its status as 'open'. Riddle tightened his silver and green scarf, ensuring it was placed over his robes precisely. With that, the two entered, Tom removing his own red-gold scarf in the blast of heat.

The pub was empty, save for a dancing fireplace that warmed the room. Tom beelined over to the fireplace, as to warm his frozen fingers. Riddle did not accompany him. Rather, he pulled a tall chair up to the bar, waiting for the other to join him.

After he had sweated for a five-minute spell, Tom made his way over to Riddle, seating himself in the chair beside him.

“So, did you order anything?”

“Nobody's come up yet,” Riddle said, leaning over the countertop as if to summon the barkeep. Riddle paused above the table, looking down at something behind the counter.

 “Wait- is that what I think it is?” Tom Riddle reached over the counter, but Tom Potter was too fast, snatching the item between his own hands.

“A bell,” Tom said, clutching said item, “Looks like for a goat or a sheep.”

“Ring it,” Riddle urged, “Why else would it be here?”

Tom gave the bell a loud ring, then reset it down behind the counter. A coughing was heard from the back, and an older man strode out, scraggly beard wild about his face.

Tom didn't move, but Riddle suddenly flinched, ducking his head down.

“What's wrong with you-”

“Dumbledore!” Riddle hissed, “It's Dumbledore, we need to leave!”

“Dumbledore?” Tom whispered back, staring as the barman approached.

“What will you gents be having?” the man said, a dirty rag clutched in his hands.

“One Butterbeer,”” Tom said, “And a hot toddy for me.”

The man sized him up. “What'll you have in the toddy?”

“Firewhiskey.” Tom said boldly, as Riddle kicked him beneath the counter. “Ouch!”

“Two students ordering Butterbeers and toddys…While the rest of your classmates stay in school drinking pumpkin juice.” the barkeep snorted.

“Sir, if we aren't allowed here-” began Tom.

“Aren't allowed?” the barman scoffed. "I could care less if you two are first year students sneaking into Hogsmeade. If you got the sickles, I'll take your orders.”

Tom forked over a handful of sickles with a few knuts. The man turned his back on them, filling a mug with Butterbeer.

“'Ere you are.” the barkeep said, placing the beverage in front of Riddle. “Toddy'll take a minute to heat up.”

Riddle sipped his butterbeer, then placed it down, eyeing the barkeep. “As me and my brother are new here, might we have the pleasure of your name, sir?”

“Not a sir, that's for your professor. Name's Abeforth Dumbledore, but I ain't saying more than that. If you want a life story, you'll have to buy more Butterbeers.” The man stepped forward, a steaming mug in hand, and placed it in front Tom.

“Do you see your brother Professor Dumbeldore often?” Tom asked politely.

“We have to get more drinks for the story,” Riddle insisted, looking inquisitively at Tom.

“I am not buying you more.” Tom said crossly.

“Says the person drinking heated firewhiskey.”

“I'll just say I'm you,” countered Tom, “If I had a galleon for every time someone mistook me for you, I could get away with so much more than drinking firewhiskey.”

“You are tired of being identified as your brother?” Abeforth scoffed. “Not like I would know anything about that.” the man muttered.

“You do look alike.” Tom said, shrugging as he took a sip from his heated beverage.

The man scowled. “Same as you two. Except your eye colours. But then that begs the question of why you two are here with such recognizable features.”

“Mr. Abeforth,” Riddle said politely, “To the reason why we are in Hogsmeade, we are trying to find a gift for his parent.”

“My guardian.” Tom cut in, annoyed.

“Well, you're wasting your time, as you might have guessed that,” Abeforth said, as he began to clean the counter, “Everything's been boarded and shut up due to the air raids. Bad for business, but no one wants to risk an injury on a student.”

“If only the war would end.” Tom added as he finished his toddy.

“Well, considering Grindelwald is still on the loose, I wouldn't get your hopes up.” Riddle said.

Abeforth paused in his table wiping. “Now why would two Hogwarts students be concerned with the likes of him?”

Riddle finished his butterbeer, placing it on the countertop. “Potter here wants to join the Aurors and single-handedly capture Grindelwald himself.”

Abeforth snorted, shaking his head. “No Hogwarts student is going to catch Grindelwald.”

“He must be stopped.” Tom said, rapping his knuckle on the countertop. “As soon as I make Auror, I'll see to it he's put into Azkaban for life.”

“Go ahead,” Abeforth said, swiping the rag, “It's not like more experienced wizards than you have died trying.”

“At least I'd be doing something with my life,” Tom countered, crossing his arms, “Rather then spend it hiding like a rat.”

The man scowled at that, grabbing his cleaning rag and stomping over to the fireplace. Riddle elbowed him, whispering- “Anything else you'd like to add before we get tossed back out in the snow?”

Tom shrugged; arms still crossed. “We're supposed to stop him, Tom. We haven't gotten even remotely close to learning about our enemy and how to deal with him. We're almost halfway through our last semester.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Riddle asked, watching Aberforth hang his rag above the fireplace.

“Well, we won't find any answers here,” Tom said, lowering his voice, “Brother of Professor Dumbledore or not, I bet he doesn't even know what Grindelwald looks like.”

Riddle shrugged. “Considering the ease of disguising oneself through potions, Grindelwald may never be caught.”

“And that's where you're wrong.” Tom said then, pulling himself away from the bar to stand alongside Riddle. “He'll slip up eventually. And then I will be the one to catch him. Mark my words.”

“Is that the toddy speaking or you?” Riddle asked as he climbed down from his high seat. The two then made their way to the front entrance of the pub as small swirls of dust danced in the winter sunlight.

“Little bit of both,” Tom replied, letting out a small hiccough as he shoved the door open to the cold, “Not like anyone's going to challenge a professional Auror.” The two made their way outside, as the wind began to pick up.

“Let's head back.” Riddle said, “This snow is only going to get worse.”

Tom sighed. “Go ahead, I'm going to walk Hogsmeade one more time. I'm taking anything at this point.”

“Suit yourself,” Riddle said. “I'm not freezing any more.” The teen walked off, leaving Tom alone in the middle of the snow-blown street.

“Come on....” Tom walked past the shopfronts, as leering pictures of Grindelwald decorated bolted doors. “Just one, s'all I ask. ”He walked a good twenty minutes until he reached the end of Hogsmeade. Tom had shoved his hands into his pockets and was beginning to shake from the cold.

“M-maybe I should go back.” he chattered out loud to no one.

But as luck would have it-

“A shop!” Tom could almost cheer at the open sign. Without another moment's hesitation, the teen made his way indoors, and walked immediately to the front counter.

“Hello?”

 

“Merry Christmas, Harry!”

“What is this, Tom?”

Tom handed him a wrapped package. “Open it and find out.”

Tom Potter and his guardian were downstairs for the Christmas holiday. True to form, Tom Riddle was still sleeping. Tom couldn't have been happier, as at that moment he wanted to be alone with Harry.

 _I hope he spends all morning asleep_... he mused.

Harry began to unwrap the package, his fingers deftly picking at the soft red ribbon tied around the box.

“Oh.” said Harry.

A glassblown statue laid wrapped in gold cloth. As the man drew it forth, its shimmering black body wrapped around a pedestal, green gemstones gleaming from its eyes.

“A statue of an Occamy,” Harry traced his pale fingers alongside the black glass as he spoke, “a black Occamy.”

“Glass blown in Hogsmeade.”

“They're allowing students back in Hogsmeade?” Harry said, raising his head from the statue to scrutinize Tom.

"Uh...sure," Tom said, pouring himself a mug of coffee that had been set out on the breakfast table. He then pointed to the embossed packaging with 'Glassblown in the UK' stamped on it. “It was the only store open. I had it made.”

“This is very beautiful Tom. You have an artist's eye.”

Tom flushed. “I'm glad you like it. I always think about that day we went flying. Sometimes I dream about it.”

“Flying is in your blood,” Harry said, wings stretching as in emphasis, “there is no doubt about it.”

The two shared a companionable moment as Harry clasped Tom's shoulder as he rose up from the table.  Giving the teen's shoulder a squeeze, Harry picked up his glass Occamy.

“This was a very thoughtful gift. I will put it in my room so I can admire it.”

“Right. I'll heat up some more coffee for us.” Tom smiled, and returned to the kitchen, heating the stove.

Harry Potter walked out of the kitchen, until he made the base of the stairs. The man ascended up, holding the statue tightly between his hands. Harry passed the red and green doors adjacent to his own, until he was standing in front of his own black door. He extended his left hand, and muttering a spell, unlocked the door.

“Still sleeping?” Harry murmured, as he walked over to his bed. A lump covered by blankets was silent in response. Harry extended his black appendages, nudging the blankets with his right wing. The lump in his bed made a half groan, turning to reveal the body underneath, face buried into a pillow.

“You're bad as he is.” came the muffled voice of Tom Riddle.

“And still topless I see?”

“Not just topless. Get in here and find out.”

Harry swiped his wing, brushing the face of Tom Riddle. “You are insatiable.” The man paced over to a brown dresser, where he placed the glass-blown statue in the centre. The black glass gleamed in the cool December sun.

“Beautiful.” Harry sighed, admiring the statue as it shined on the top of the dresser.

“Yes, I am.” came the sleepy reply.

 

** Sources: **

_Head Boy_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Head_Boy_or_Girl>

_1944_

<http://www.historyplace.com/worldwar2/timeline/ww2time.htm>

_Engorgio_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Engorgement_Charm>

_Seventh Year_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Seventh_year>

_Hogs Head_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hog%27s_Head_Inn>

_Aberforth_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Aberforth_Dumbledore>


	14. Chapter 14

“Potter, we've been looking for you.”

At that very moment, Tom Potter was in the midst of finishing his breakfast. He had a break that morning before classes, and so, he had taken his time to eat, remaining at the Gryffindor table longer than the junior students. This had presented a window of opportunity for two Slytherin students, Mulciber and Nott, to approach him alone at the table.

“Huh?” said Tom. “For what? Don't tell me you want me in your little group?”

“Like we would take someone from Gryffindor house as a knight of Walpurgis.” the taller boy scoffed.

“Still carrying on that stupid club name, Mulciber?” Tom asked gleefully.

Mulciber clenched his fist, but Nott held up a hand, warningly.

“Potter, if you weren't related to our leader, we'd never bother to speak to you or your kind. But since this came from Tom Riddle, we are obligated to pass the message on to you.”

“What does Tom Riddle want that he can't do himself?” Tom asked, giving a snort. “Instead, he leaves it to his lackeys who don't like 'my kind'?”

“The Slug Club meets this Friday.” Nott said stiffly.

“The Slug Club?” Tom feigned ignorance, “Is that where you get the grease for your hair? From slugs?”

Mulciber growled, his shoulders tensing, balled fists rising up to chest-level.

“Ok, Sleekeazy's.” Tom said, placatingly. “You all need to unwind in Slytherin. What does Professor Slughorn's esteemed club want with me?”

Nott fidgeted with his prefect badge, then continued: “We're to ask you to accompany one of us to Friday's dinner and meeting. Tom Riddle would like you there, but he already has a guest.”

_Who would be going with Tom Riddle?_

“Since Mulciber's more likely to punch me in the face, I'll go with you, Nott,” Tom stood up, giving them a wry smile, “Friday night. Where should I meet you? What dress should I wear? My hair? Flowers?”

The two Slytherins gave him a deadly look.

“Just show up Potter.” Nott said, finally.

 

Tom left the Gryffindor common room, Head Boy pin gleaming in the firelight. It was Friday night, and he made his way down the staircases of Hogwarts, heading over to the hallway where Slughorn's Club held their meetings.

At least, that's what he was trying to do.

“Come on!” he cursed, stalking the hallway once more. “Where is his office?”

 _I've been here seven years, and I can't find one teacher's office?_ Irritably, he found himself in front of the prefect's bathroom.

  _Again._

“I don't want a bath, I want to find Slughorn's office!” Tom cursed, stalking past the door. _I know it's here somewhere...._

“Potter!” uttered a familiar voice.

“Tom!” he called back, recognizing the voice.

Riddle was standing at the end of the hallway and waving a hand. On his elbow, there was a tall girl, light brown hair with black beady eyes. Her small eyes narrowed in dislike as Tom Potter approached the couple.

_She looks familiar...._

Tom couldn't place where he'd seen her before. However, before he could work it out on his own, Tom Riddle raised his elbow, in a gesture of introduction.

“Lucretia, my brother, Tom Potter. Potter, Lucretia Black.”

The light bulb went off immediately in Tom's mind. “Is Walburga your sister?” he blurted, before he could stop himself.

“She's my second cousin,” she said, giving him dismissive look. “Don't tell me Walburga's spending time with you.”

“Hardly,” Tom shrugged, “I rarely see her, unless it's a chance meeting in a hallway.”

“Good for her.” she said, turning her nose up.

_I'm really sick of this pure-blood supremacy._

As Tom opened his mouth to retort, Riddle gave him a poignant glare, using his other hand to make a silencing gesture. _Fine, you choose to associate with her, you deserve all the misery she brings you._

“I suppose Nott dumped me, since he never bothered telling me exactly how to get here.” Tom said, shrugging his shoulders.

“It doesn't matter,” Riddle said, turning both himself and companion in the opposing direction, “Professor Slughorn respects me, and he'll not have any trouble who I bring in.”

“You're his Head Boy, I'm sure he holds you in some kind of esteem.”

“As does Professor Dumbledore for you?” Riddle said sarcastically.

_Not really._

Truth be told, Dumbledore had not been much involved with him since meeting him in the Transfiguration class. It seemed the man had become more distant that semester. Considering he was Head of Gryffindor house, he often wondered what kept the man occupied these days.

The three began walking down the stone hallway, passing suits of armor stood up on display, various tapestries fluttering with their movement.

“What goes on in these meetings?”

“Social events, food.” Riddle looked over his shoulder. “News about the war.”

“We can find about-”

“Yes, Grindelwald.” Riddle said. “But don't be surprised if Slughorn avoids talking about him. He never wants to talk politics unless it's somehow related to him.”

“What's wrong with Grindelwald?” Lucretia spoke up, “I think what he's doing will set the Wizarding world as should be.”

“Don't say that around Dumbledore, or you'll find yourself in Azkaban.” Riddle snorted.

“Professor Dumbledore wouldn't do that,” Tom said defensively, not entirely sure why he was defending the man.

“I believe he's trying to get the position as headmaster. At least, that's what mother and father told me.” said Lucretia with a sniff. “He's not to be trusted. My family says at least headmaster Dippet knows the value of pure-blood support. As do you, Tom.” Lucretia added, batting her eyelashes at Riddle.

 _Ugh._ thought Tom. _And I thought Myrtle was bad._

 

“A toast, if I may, to the many in our number pursuing paths of advancement in our society!”

The group of students, led by the Potions professor, began to raise their glasses, as Slughorn gave a beaming smile.

“To academic achievement!”

“To academic achievement.” came the sonorous reply from the assembled students.

Tom sat at a rather large round table, feeling greatly outnumbered in his Gryffindor reds. More than half the attendees at Slughorn's party were in silver and greens, with a few Ravenclaws, and one Hufflepuff student.

 _And every last one of Riddle's club._   Tom thought to himself sourly.

Tom offered a toast of his drink, and with that, chucked the sour beverage back into his mouth. He winced, feeling the burn of the whiskey.

Riddle, on the other hand, was sitting adjacent to Slughorn while Tom was delegated to the opposing side of the table. He was accompanied by Mulciber and Nott who were sitting next to him.

“So...how about the weather we've been having?” Tom started, “It's been a rather short winter.”

“We aren't making small talk with you, Potter.” came the dismissive response from Nott.

“Right.” Tom sighed, shooting furtive glances over to Riddle, who was in deep conversation with Slughorn. “Thought I'd give it a shot.”

 _Why did you bring me here._ Tom thought, tapping the table impatiently. _I have better things to do._

Riddle seemed to read his thoughts, for at that moment, Slughorn rose from the table, as did Riddle. He caught Tom's eye, and gestured for him to come over.

“Excuse me.” Tom said to his two companions, “I need to get over to your boss.”

Mulciber scowled, but Nott obliged, moving his chair inwards as to create space. Tom rose to his feet. He wove his way around the round table until he made it over to where Slughorn and Riddle were engrossed in conversation in front of a cheery fireplace.

“Ah!” Slughorn interrupted, as Tom approached. “Mr. Potter. I hear from Tom you are thinking of pursuing work as an Auror.”

Tom nodded his head in agreement. “Yes sir. I plan to make it as a career.”

Slughorn gave him an appraising look. “Quite bold you are, not unlike your brother! I suppose you both are on your ways to promising endeavors.”

Tom shrugged. “I'd like to think so.”

Riddle cleared his throat. “Professor Slughorn, I was hoping to get your opinion on a teaching career here at Hogwarts for both myself and Potter.”

“Positions as Hogwarts professors!” Slughorn beamed. “Now Mr. Riddle, I don't play favourites-”

 _Liar._ Tom thought, rolling his eyes.

“-But it would bring me no greater joy to see you teach here at Hogwarts. I suppose you'll want a good word put in with the Headmaster. Which I would be happy to do!”

“And for my brother as well, should his opinion change.” Riddle added.

“Of course, I'd be happy to do it, Tom.” Slughorn continued, “A much better enterprise than pursuing that nasty business of horcru-”

Riddle raised a hand, interrupting- “I've not revisited that conversation in some time, Professor. It was only in the interest of academic research.”

Slughorn managed to procure a handkerchief, which he patted on his forehead. “Yes, yes, of course Tom, I only mention that as Professor Dumbledore mentioned a certain tome being removed from the library in the coming weeks-”

“What book?” Tom asked curiously.

“Well, we don't need to revisit it, do we!” Slughorn's voice had slightly increased, which gave Tom the impression that he was nervous about something, “No doubt its use could put certain people in a compromising position.”

“Not you, Professor Slughorn.” Riddle said coolly. “I wouldn't worry about it.”

“Right.” Slughorn seem to come back to the conversation, removing the kerchief from his sweaty brow. “You do have a way with words, Mr. Riddle!”

 _What book._ mouthed Tom. Riddle ignored him.

“On the note of words, Professor Slughorn, I had the leisure of speaking with my guest, Lucretia, on Grindelwald's whereabouts.” Riddle stepped forward, looming over the shorter man, “She mentioned that it was believed he is in the country now.”

“What!?” exclaimed Tom, in a rush, “He's here now?!”

“Yes...” Slughorn gave a despondent look, “I have heard this as well. Much of the staff believes it to be true.”

Tom felt his heart begin to race in anticipation. “Grindelwald, here? He's strongest in the European conflict, what would motivate him to come over here?”

“Albus Dumbledore.” came the reply. The two boys and the professor both observed the speaker, Lucretia Black, stepping forward from near the fireplace, her silver and greens gleaming in the light of the fire.

“Took it right out of my mouth!” Slughorn said, dabbing his kerchief again. “You are correct, Miss-”

“Black.” Lucretia said, wrapping an arm around Riddle's own, “My family is well acquainted with the inner circles of wizarding society.” she continued dismissively, “Especially on rumors when it concerns Professor Dumbledore.”

“Now now,” Slughorn interjected, “There's been plenty of rumors, but no concrete evidence in Albus's involvement with Grindelwald.”

“Dumbledore's involvement?” sputtered Tom, “He's in league with Grindelwald?”

“Not in league, my dear boy! Quite the opposite!” Slughorn gave a friendly clout to Tom's shoulder, continuing, “There's no doubt he's the only wizard powerful enough to stand up to Gellert Grindelwald.”

“So, in essence, Grindelwald's coming to confront him?”

“If you put it that way,” Slughorn said, “then yes. But it won't be just Albus. Why, the entire Ministry will be on hand.”

“And we know how useful they are.” said Riddle sarcastically. Professor Slughorn didn't seem to notice this, instead shuffling over to the fireplace.

“Makes one's head ache at the thought of fighting!” Slughorn procured a glass bottle, with a reddish liquid inside. “Calls for another round of firewhiskey, if only to calm my nerves to think about the war coming here!”

“We'll be ready, Professor.” Tom said, straightening his stance and throwing his shoulders back. “Grindelwald will be stopped.”

“Who's we?” said Riddle. “You and the Ministry?”

“Nope.” said Tom. “The only man I know who can.”

 

“No.” read Tom, despondently, folding the letter in his hands.

“He said no?” Riddle replied.

The two seventh year students were poised in the Owlery of the school. Tom had received by owl a reply from his guardian that morning, having written an inquiry to the man the night before.

“What did you tell him?” Riddle asked.

“I just asked if he was ready to face Grindelwald.” Tom said, frowning. “He wants to defeat the Dark Lord, and the opportunity arises, and instead he just writes back no.”

“You really thought Harry was going to go fight Grindelwald?”

“Well you tell me, Tom Riddle, why else did we come back in time?” Tom crushed the letter, in frustration, “To sit around and let the future happen?”

“Maybe he has a reason for waiting.” Riddle said distantly. “Maybe it's not the right time.”

“The right time for what? To let Grindelwald control the Wizarding World? This is our chance to stop what's coming for us!”

Riddle tapped Tom's chest, where the Head Boy pin was placed securely. “Your duty is to be a Head Boy and keep students in line. You aren't the first person who has the grandiose idea they're going to single-handedly stop Grindelwald.”

“I told you, I'm not doing it alone, I'm doing it with-”

“Harry, who told you no.” Riddle finished. “No means no, Potter.”

“Since when are you my guardian?” Tom growled, stepping around Riddle. “You aren't the boss of me.”

“Worse than that, I'm your sibling.” Riddle replied, grabbing Tom's shoulder. “I'm just as interested as you as seeing Grindelwald's fall, but at what expense?”

“We could be heroes.” Tom said, shrugging Riddle from his shoulder. “We have the knowledge and skills to take him down.”

“We could be dead,” replied Riddle, gesturing his free hand dramatically. 

Tom scowled. “Saving your own hide, how Slytherin of you.”

“Smarter than a glory-seeking Gryffindor,” Riddle replied, “Forget it, Potter.”

“I'm hardly glory seeking,” Tom said, crossing his arms. “In fact, the glory seeking's been already done by you.”

Riddle raised an eyebrow. “Enlighten me.”

“Rubeus Hagrid.” Tom said, pointing an accusing finger, “You reported him. That's why you were rewarded special services to the school!”

“Are you mad because I got the credit? Or because he's a Gryffindor like you?” Riddle scoffed.

“No, but you've hardly been candid about it.” Tom retorted, “What really happened?”

“I found him with the spider. I reported him to Slughorn.” Riddle said, shrugging. “Were you expecting something more exciting?”

“How is it you weren't petrified when all the other victims were?” Tom accused, “Don't tell me it's because you are some kind of magic spider expert.”

“I wasn't stupid enough to let that happen to me.” Riddle paced around, looking back at Tom. “Surely you can't think I'm that incompetent.”

“You can stop a giant spider, but you won't come with me to draw out Grindelwald.”  
  
“No, and I won't let you either.” Riddle gestured to his counterpart's badge, “I'll report you to a Professor if you try it.”

Tom felt his face colour in anger. “Hoping you'll get another special service to the school?”

“A bloody award? Do you think I will stand by and let yourself get killed? I would never let that happen to...” Riddle suddenly cut off.

“Let what?”

“Shut up and forget I said anything.” Riddle said crossly.

“You were going to say happen to me, weren't you?” Despite Tom's irritation at Riddle's stubbornness, he felt a warmth in his chest. “Admit it, you do care about me and Harry,” he said at last, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“Say that to anyone and no magic will fix what I will do to you.” Riddle grumbled.

 

Tom was testing on his Defense against the Dark Arts N.E.W.T when the news came.

“He's been defeated!” came the declaration. The heads of all the students rose from the parchments as the Herbology Professor, Professor Beery, rushed into the classroom with a newspaper gripped tightly in his hand.

Professor Merrythought immediately stood from where she had been sitting behind her desk. “You can't mean-”

“Yes!” Beery gave a gasp of air, as if having run the length of school, “It's in all the papers now, Galatea.” He held up the _Daily Prophet_ , while the testing students leaned forward in their desks, exams forgotten in the moment.

 _“GELLERT GRINDELWALD DEFEATED BY ALBUS DUMBLEDORE.”_ declared the _Daily Prophet._

“It's true, then, Herbert... the war is finally done?” Professor Merrythought gasped in awe.

“The war's finished, and done by our very own Albus Dumbledore, no less!” Professor Beery tapped the paper's moving image, which depicted Dumbledore battling Grindelwald in a never-ending wand duel. “When Dippet told me he'd left to confront the man, I thought he was joking. Never took Albus as a war-mongering type. But lo and behold, he's finished it!”

Tom sat stunned in his desk. _Dumbledore? But...I thought it was supposed to be me?_

“This is certainly unprecedented news.” declared Merrythought, “I... _would_ cancel the exams... but alas, these grades are needed to qualify for graduation. Hurry on then!” she barked to the students, “Then once our studies are done, we can truly celebrate this momentous occasion!”

 

“It's over.” Tom said to Riddle, the two standing in front of the lake of Hogwarts.

“It would seem that way.” agreed Riddle, hands in his pockets as he gazed up to the cloudy sky.

“It just always seemed like I was going to be the one to do it...you know, defeat the Dark Lord.” Tom said blankly. “Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Aren't you happy you're free from the responsibility?”

“I don't see why we even bothered coming back to this time.” Tom grumbled, likewise shoving his hands into his pockets, “It seems like we came back for nothing.”

“Nothing?” asked Riddle, “How about your future ambitions as an Auror?”

“I guess that's a direction.” Tom half-heartedly shrugged, still feeling a sense of hopelessness. “Less fear of failure then, since I'm not needed to save the world.”

“Who says you won't be saving the world?” Riddle dug his hand into his pocket, while the other man returned his gaze towards the inky black water of the lake. Seconds passed in silence, as Riddle then drew his hand out of his long pocket.

 “In case you're so eager to be the world's next savior, Potter, you might be in need of this."

Tom stood stock still as Riddle held out a wrapped package in his hands. “What's this for?” Tom said, shocked, “Tom, why did you-?”

“Just open it.” Riddle gestured, “It's something you'll need. As a future Auror.” Tom gave a small smile, and began to rip the packaging to reveal-

“Wow.”

A small golden scabbard lay in his hand, etched with dancing serpents and small precious stones. Even on the cloudy day, it had a golden shine to it. Tom drew his gaze up the scabbard, to where a dark wooden handle lay at the top.

“This is a dagger.” Tom said, wonder on his face as he rolled the scabbard over to see his initials imprinted on the opposite side. “Tom, this is too much. I can't take this.”

“Not just any dagger.” Riddle replied, ignoring him. “Withdraw the blade.”

Tom licked his lips and unclasped the leather handle. His hand gripped the dark wood, and with a deft tug he drew out the blade. “It's...” Tom inspected the dagger, holding it up. “It's a tooth.” He made to touch the tip, but Riddle quickly snatched his hand out, holding him by the wrist.

“From a basilisk. So, unless you'd like me to run you to the infirmary, I suggest you don't touch it.”

“Where on earth did you get a basilisk tooth from?”

“Lot closer than you'd think.” muttered Riddle.

“What?”

“Nevermind.” Riddle then gripped Tom's shoulder. “Look...Potter, the war may be over, but as an Auror you may be faced with an even more dangerous foe than Grindelwald. When that time comes, this blade will serve you well.”

“Thank you.” Tom replied, still somewhat speechless. He re-holstered the dagger into its scabbard and placed it in the pocket of his robes. The two men stood for a moment in another awkward silence, but then Tom lurched forward, grabbing Riddle in a tight embrace. Riddle froze in his arms.

“I wouldn't have picked anyone else for a brother.” Tom said, giving Riddle another tight hug.

“Or, for a friend.” Riddle replied over his shoulder, then gently disentangling himself from the other man. The two smiled at each other in unison, the bright rays of the sun illuminating their similar countenances.

“Let's walk around the lake, for old time's sake.”

The two walked companionably around the great lake, side by side, only leaving the murky shores when the sky began to fade into twilight.

 

“And finally, to all of you students, a congratulations on all your achievements you have made here at Hogwarts. May you never forget the friends you've made on your journey here, and the memories you will always have of our hallowed halls.”

“To Hogwarts!” cheered the crowd.

Tom extended his wand, mimicking the other students in the graduating group. From the Slytherin side, he could see Riddle and his group likewise having their wands at the ready.

“And for our final farewell... send forth your houses' colours into the air!” Professor Beery exclaimed from the school's podium.

Tom waved his wand effortlessly, the holly sending red sparks into the air. The Slytherin side sent green flares, while Hufflepuff in gold, and Ravenclaw in navy.

“Congratulations to all our graduating wizards and witches!” declared Beery, and the hall filled with cheers and claps, colours dancing in the enchanted ceiling.

 

“Move over, Potter.”

Tom obliged as Riddle sat down next to him into the boat. As part of the graduating ceremony, the students were to ride once again across the lake. Tom had assumed Riddle would sit with his Slytherin peers, but had been proven wrong as Riddle had seated himself next to him.

“Why do you look like someone's stepped on your grave?” Tom inquired, noticing Riddle's hands were clenched on his lap. “We graduated today, try and show some happiness at that.”

Riddle scowled. “You'd be cross if your talents weren't recognized by this bloody school.”

Tom paused for a moment, then realized to what Riddle was saying- “Are you talking about your being a professor? Did Dippet say no?”

“Shut up, Potter.” snapped Riddle. “I don't need a reminder from you.”

“Why are you sitting next to me if you're going to be cross?”

“You're the most likely person not to piss me off.” Riddle glared at the boat, as if willing any of the other occupants to challenge this claim.

“I don't know whether if I should be concerned or grateful I'm your closest confidant.” Tom shifted closer to Riddle, as another student clambered into the boat.

“All set!” came the booming voice of Ogg, the gamekeeper. “Keep yer arms and legs in, unless yeh want to start yer careers off missin' limbs!” The large man guffawed at that, and with a wave of his arm, the boats began to make their journey across the lake.

“I wonder how many times he's said that joke.” Tom observed, as Ogg became smaller and smaller as the boat drifted away.

“It's the reason why he's still a gamekeeper.” Riddle grumbled, which earned a chuckle from Tom.

“Lighten up, Tom. Just because Hogwarts didn't work out doesn't mean there's not other jobs out there.” Tom said, watching the mist roll off the top of the lake as the boat approached the shore. “Why not become an Auror like me?”

“I don't want to talk about this Potter.”

“Well, we'll talk about it when we get home then. Look at more career options. Maybe Harry has some ideas.”

“When we get home?” repeated Riddle.

“Yeah, our home.” Tom said, tilting his head, “Were you planning on going somewhere else?”

“I...” Riddle paused, then his shoulder slumped, as if in relief. “I suppose not, Potter.”

“It's Tom, Riddle.” Tom said, rolling his eyes. “We're not in school anymore.”

 

** Notes: **

_Slug Club:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Slug_Club>

_Lucretia Black:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Lucretia_Black>

_N.E.W.T.s_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Nastily_Exhausting_Wizarding_Test>

 


	15. Chapter 15

Tom Potter stood at attention, as the sergeant strode forwards.

“Recruits!” he barked, waving a hand at them. “I don't know what spells you know, nor frankly do I care. What you really need is...CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” he barked, Tom shrinking in his loafers.

“Y-yes sir.” he stammered.

“Don't call me sir, candidate.” the man groused. “What's your name?”

“Tom.” he swallowed. The man leaned forward, still intimidating despite Tom's superior height.

“Did I ask for your first name?” he asked silkily.

“Well uh.... it’s Potter.”

“Potter.” the sergeant repeated. “Give me twenty for your cheek.”

Tom dropped to his hands and legs in embarrassment, conducting a steady 20 pushups. He then sprang up and forward, as the sergeant continued:

“Now for all of you, this is a simulation run. Remember, less spellwork, the better.” The sergeant gestured at the embossed door. “You'll face a hostage situation, accompanied by a boggart for good measure.” Tom was then punched in the shoulder by the sergeant, gesturing to the door. “You're plenty warmed up from pushing. Show us what you can do.”,

The group tittered amongst themselves, as Tom walked forward, and entered in the room. The man turned and shut the door behind him.  He fumbled in the dark, finding a light switch on a nearby wall, illuminating the room.

Tom fought the urge to scream. The room was drenched in blood, the bodies of the Riddle family strewn about the floor. The corpse of the oldest Riddle spoke, from where it was closest to him on the ground.

“You....did this.” the corpse groaned.

“No... I didn't kill you, “Tom backed away from the corpse. “I never killed you!”

“You gave us a fate worse than death.” replied the man's wife, rolling her head 180 degrees. The crunching and snapping of her neck bones made Tom's stomach heave.

“You're not real.” he whimpered, fumbling for the door behind him. “You're not real!”

The youngest corpse suddenly stood, head lolling. “We're coming to get you, Tom Potter.” He suddenly flew forwards as Tom likewise shrieked, shoving the door out from behind him. SLAM went the door, the corpse bodily colliding from within with a large THUNK. He faced towards the class, their anxious eyes raking over him.

“You weren't in there five minutes, Potter.” the sergeant stated. “Where is the hostage?”

Tom only dragged long fingers into his hair. “I didn't....I didn't.” He stammered.

The sergeant sighed. “Bones, take him to the medical wing.” He gestured to a nearby woman.

“Come on, Potter.” She urged, clasping his long arm with her own. “Let's get you to the medics.”

 

“This is...” Riddle said, looking in his mind for the place. “East of London?”

“The Cliffs of Dover.” replied Harry, black wings fluttering in the breeze above the cliffs. The two were standing above a large white cliff, azure waves below crashing into the base.  Harry turned his neon gaze to Tom Riddle, black hair dancing around his eyes in the wind. “You wanted to show me something?”

“Oh yes,” Riddle said, slyly, “And a quick reminder-do _not_ panic.”

“Knowing you, I should be so lucky as to not panic.” Harry retorted.

Tom Riddle strode forward to the edge of the cliff, and then faced towards Harry. He then gave a salute, the backs of his heels listing over the cliff.  Riddle then leaned back, spreading his arms out. A strong gust whipped over the cliff, and then Riddle was falling backwards to the sea below.

“Tom!” Harry yelled. The man dove off the cliff after Tom Riddle, wings folded behind him to create less drag. Harry reached his pale hands out, as to grab the falling man below him.

But then, Riddle was no longer falling. His body then rose in the air as Riddle righted himself, turning onto his stomach as to fly above the waves.

“Good form!” cried Harry, wings spreading out as he finished his dive. Harry swooped after, wings flapping in unhinged delight at Riddle's outstretched, flying form.

The two flew in tandem. Harry's wings tapped an easy rhythm as he flew alongside Riddle, who was basking in the moment.

“Up there!” called Riddle. He flew upwards, robes swirling like a black specter around his lithe body. Harry hovered for the briefest moment below, but then likewise shot up with a powerful beat of his wings. The black wings carried him upwards to meet Riddle, who now hovered above the clouds.

The sun was setting for the day and basked them both in a golden light. Above the clouds was painter's dream of oranges, reds, and purples, making it seem as if the two had transported to another world.

Harry held aloft, his neon green eyes taking in the scene above the colourful expanse of clouds. “This is what poets write about,” he murmured, “when they think of heaven.”

“And of course, being accompanied by a man with wings, it does give that illusion.” Tom Riddle commented, wryly.

Harry glided around Riddle, wings tips mere inches from Tom's face. The young man briefly closed his eyes, as Harry swooped around, feeling the wisp of feathers against his face.

Tom Riddle then extended his hands out, eyes half-lidded. “Take my hands,” he urged Harry.

Harry Potter extended his pale hands out, and Riddle twined their fingers together. “Now hide your wings.”

“Then I will fall,” Harry said, raising an eyebrow.

“Together.” agreed Riddle.

Harry's wings folded behind and then were gone. The two fell together in the air, their bodies plummeting down to the shimmering sea. Their hands held each other as they spun through the sky, free-falling in the wind.

Riddle then surged forward, kissing Harry. While sharing in the kiss, Harry locked his fingers with Riddle's as to maintain his position in the sky. Before they had the chance to hit the water, Riddle righted himself, grabbing Harry by his arms. They hovered above the water, Tom Riddle holding Harry up by the elbows, as they breathed in mutual exhilaration.

They stayed in loving embrace as the sun set, hovering above the deep blue sea. When the darkness finally fell, they untwined from each other, gently clasping their left hands together. The two flew together, following the bright, silvery stars that led them home.

 

_Dear Harry and Tom-_ scribbled Tom onto the parchment, _Having a wonderful time at Auror selection, where they beat you up and claim it's in the name of magical defense. Hope you both are doing better than I am. Write soon._

Tom re-read his letter a few more times but scrunched his face in disgust at the final read. “No.” He grumbled, ripping the parchment apart in frustration.

“What are you up to, Tom?” came a voice below his bunk, one of his recruit classmates.

“Trying to write a letter that doesn't come off like I'm complaining.”

“Good luck with that.” came the reply.

Tom rolled over into his bunk and stared up at the ceiling. _Wish I could think of something positive to write about._

It was halfway into his second month at Auror selection. He was in a class of 25 witches and wizards vying for one of the twenty positions that would be granted to selected candidates. Two candidates had already washed out of the program, so while his chances had increased, the risk of failure still weighed heavily on his mind.

_I'm just as good as anyone here...._ thought Tom to himself. _Except for that hostage situation. But that was the first week, everybody screwed up then._

“Lights out.” came a baritone reply from the doorway. Tom grabbed his sheet as the roomed dimmed and faded into pitch black, and he wrapped himself tightly, willing himself to fall asleep.

_I wonder how Harry and Tom are..._ was his final thought, as he slipped into unconsciousness.

_Tom was flying on his broomstick. It was a clear, blue day with a cool breeze brushing against his skin. He was looking down at the ground beneath, observing seemingly miles of lush green stretched beneath him as he flew solo in the sky._

_This is great, he thought to himself, just me, my broom, and-_

_A sudden whooshing sound greeted him, and Tom halted, nearly missing being hit by a black blur._

_“Harry!” he cried in joyful recognition. Harry Potter hovered magnificently in the air, black wings outstretched as they beat into the air._

_“Tom.” he said, giving the other a warm smile as he extended a pale hand out to the boy._

_Tom felt his heart rate increase as he flew closer to be face to face Harry. “I wanted to tell you something.”_

_“As do I, Tom.” Harry said, flying in closer, placing a pale hand to Tom's cheek._

_“Harry, Tom said breathlessly, “I wanted to tell you that I lov-”_

_But suddenly Harry froze in the air, a look of fear striking his face._

_“Tom, get down!” the man demanded._

_Tom didn't have enough time to blink, let alone react as suddenly Harry was struck down from the sky by a jet green light. Black feathers went spiraling everywhere, as a high-cold laughter was heard as the body fell._

_“Harry Potter,” the voice laughed. “You're mine.”_

_“HARRY!” roared Tom and drove his broomstick down to where Harry was falling. The man's black wings uselessly flapped as they lost feathers as he fell. Tom continued to dive, and Harry kept out of his reach. They kept falling, and falling, and falling and-_

“LIGHTS ON!” barked a voice, and Tom gasped, shooting out of his bed and falling down to the ground in a panic.

“Augh.” Tom wheezed, rolling to his side. A black and blue bruise decorated his arm, and the boy groaned, gently prodding the aching area with his uninjured arm.

“Nothing broken?” his bunkmate inquired as he leaned out of his bunk to inspect the fallen candidate.

“I don't think so- except for my pride.” gasped Tom.

 

“So, what do you plan to do?” Harry asked, from his position at the table.

Tom Riddle drummed his fingertips on the garden table, where he and his lover sat out in the yard, enjoying the summer breeze.

“I'm not entirely sure yet.” he said finally. “I was counting on becoming the Defense against the Dark Arts teacher.” He drew forth a copy of the _Daily Prophet,_ sliding it over to Harry and tapping the page's top. “I've been combing the classifieds to see if any prospective careers turn up.”

Harry turned his neon gaze to the paper, eyes raking over the printed text. “Openings at Gringotts, Tom. Perhaps you should look into them.”

“And give up my ambitions as a future Dark Lord? What do you take me for? An evil banker?”

“I hope you are joking,” Harry said stonily, “I would be more than happy to crush your aspirations.”

Riddle snorted. “And end up fighting you? It would be an unfair fight. I would win hands down.”

Harry glared then, wings stretching out in irritation. “I have beaten you before.”

Riddle rolled his grey eyes. “As a baby. By sheer luck.”

“First year, with Professor Quirrell.”

“Never heard of him,” Riddle replied.

“Second year, Chamber of Secrets.”

“You speak parseltongue. That's hardly a fair fight if you can break into what was my own stronghold.”

“Fourth year. Little Hangleton cemetery.”

“Did you actually beat me?” Riddle said, curious. “Was future me that ill-equipped to deal with a fourth year student?”

“I had help.”

“Figures,” Riddle said, “Was it friends or family?”

Harry looked up to the sky as if in thought. After a moment had passed, he then returned his gaze back down to Riddle. “How about I show you?”

Riddle swallowed, feeling a flash of excitement. “You mean...time travel?”

“Not exactly.” Harry stood up, wings magnificently unfolding. “Come here. I'll show you why I defeated you again and again.”

 

“Now, as Aurors, you may be sure of working with- Potter, are you paying attention?”

Tom dropped his quill. He had been sketching out of boredom, drawing a lion rampant akin to his Gryffindor house sigil. Tom sat upright for the instructor's view, hands folding together on the desk.

“Yes sir.”

The instructor shot him a withering look, returning to the blackboard to resume his writing.

“As I was saying, working with each other takes precedent over everything else you do here and in your careers. The Ministry is much like a well oiled carriage- it runs with all the parts together. Not one of you will succeed on your own. Only by working as team will you find the success needed to graduate this course, and succeed in your career.”

A loud ring was heard, and the instructor dismissed the class. There was muttering among the students, and Tom grabbed his notes, shoving them in his briefcase. He walked out of the room to be accosted by a fellow student, a man recognizable by his red hair. Tom could not recall his name, but his companion had no such issue.

“Potter, do you ever pay attention?” came the disgruntled inquiry.

“Excuse me?” Tom said, raising an eyebrow. “I'm afraid I don't understand your question.”

“That's the third time this week you've been called out,” the student replied, “It's getting old. The rest of us are trying to make our ways as Aurors, and you don't take it seriously.”

Tom felt a blush coming on, but he felt more angry than embarrassed. “I didn't realize I was being evaluated by you.”

“It's not just me Potter.” the student replied. “I'd wager the other candidates feel the same.”

“Well you and them can keep your nose out of my business. I'm trying just as hard as you are,” Tom said sourly. “And I'd appreciate it if you didn't keep score on my behalf. I don't recall having done anything to you in recent memory.”

The other snorted. “That's just as I said, you don't take this seriously. We could be struck down by Dark curses and you draw on your parchments. Go waste your time at an art school, not the Ministry.”

Tom ground his teeth. “I've just as much right as you to be here.”

“I stand by what I say Potter. I'd put more of an effort into your time here.” The student turned to walk away from Tom, but was halted by Tom's hand grabbing at his shoulder.

Tom sighed. “Look, I'm sorry you think I'm not trying. I appreciate your honesty, even though I don't agree with it.”

The student shrugged Tom's hand off, giving him a cool look. “You may think you’re on your own specialty program here Potter, but you're not. Get your head out of the clouds and focus on being Auror material.”

Tom watched him walked off. As soon as he was out of sight, he kicked his foot out in irritation, stalking off to the barracks.

 

Riddle gripped Harry's arm, as the two dropped from hovering mid-air to the ground. They landed onto a haphazard sidewalk, weeds peering up through tiny cracks in the stone in a neighborhood of sprawling houses.

Tom Riddle let go of his tight grip at the feeling of solid ground beneath his feet, wobbling slightly as he found his footing. “Always a joy transporting with you.”

“Less dizzy and nauseating than Apparition.” the man replied, shrugging his shoulders as the black wings vanished.

“I would debate that,” Riddle said, wiping his brow, “Since you don't eat.”

“True.”

Tom Riddle observed their surroundings. They were surrounded by weathered fences and large homes, many of the houses with inviting yards of wild grass and sprawling porches. While it was typically cloudy day for the country, the bright colours of the homes indicated their status as wizarding haunts.

“So where are we?” Riddle asked, watching an owl swoop lowly over a house.

“Where doesn't quite matter. Who is perhaps the better question.” Harry replied, extending a pale hand out toward a nearby house in robust browns and yellows.

“97 Cistern street.” Riddle read off a nearby sign. “Is this significant?”

He didn't wait long to find out. A cracking noise was heard, and a man appeared at the gate, dressed in fine brown robes, a wizard's style hat over his jet-black hair. He was clutching a large suitcase in his left hand, and a bouquet of flowers in his right.

“Euphemia! Open the door!” he called, kicking the gate open with his foot as he stepped towards the house.

Riddle watched as within seconds the door to the home opened. It revealed a short woman with long brown hair tied off to the side. The woman was dressed in striking yellow dress, and a smile that lit her brown eyes. Her facial structure was heart-shaped, which reminded him of-

“Mr. Potter, late again to dinner I see.” the woman replied, crossing her arms and giving her husband a once-over, still smiling.

“The potions don't sell themselves, dear.” the man said. “But to make up to you, some sunflowers to brighten your spirits and match your impeccable taste in clothing?”

“You know me too well, Fleamont.” the woman replied, taking the flowers from her husband and sharing in a kiss.

“These are your relatives,” Riddle observed, “Your grandparents?”

“The family I never knew.” Harry said softly, watching the couple embrace and walk together up to the porch of their home. “One day they'll have a son- James Potter. My father.”

“Did you know them in the future?” Riddle asked, as Fleamont took off his hat, placing it jauntily on his wife's head, “Are they much different than they are now?”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. They died before I was born.”

Riddle found his hand entwining with Harry's in sympathy, giving the cool fingers a squeeze. “Why don't you visit them?”

“And corrupt the timeline?” Harry said, briefly closing his eyes as the couple shut the door, their mutual laughter muffled by the door. “I can’t risk it.”

“And so you spend your time watching over them?”

“From time to time I come here.” Harry replied with sigh. “I wish I could have known them.”

“Perhaps someday you will,” Riddle said, placing a hand to Harry's cheek. “You have made it thus far in this time. It's not so far-fetched to think a reunion may someday be possible.”

Harry turned to face Riddle as he leaned in. The two shared in a kiss as Harry's wings reappeared, encircling Riddle in their inky colours.

“Perhaps you are right, Tom Riddle.” Harry said softly, breaking the kiss and staring up into the grey with his neon eyes. “If you can change, perhaps there is hope for us all.”

“Don't get too confident,” said Riddle quietly, his face framed by the black feathers. “I could still go down that path.”

“And you will be defeated by the most powerful magic of all.”

They disappeared from the sidewalk, their only trace a small black feather left behind. The feather blew in a midday gust across the street, landing in front of the gate of the Potter's home, the only remaining evidence anyone had been there at all.

 

Tom Potter stood parallel to the group of candidates, attentive to their sergeant’s instructions. The morning’s activity: navigate an obstacle course. There were murmurs of conversation as they awaited their instructions; but all fell silent as the short man began speaking.

“Now this exercise is both physical and team-building,” the man remarked, “You are sorted into four teams with the objective to non-magically conquer a series of physical challenges. Each team will need to climb a wall, pull a wagon, and descend a height of 6 meters using rope and rappelling techniques. You will be timed.”

Tom scrunched his eyebrows, confused. _Why wouldn’t we use magic…?_

The sergeant seemingly read his mind. “This, candidates, is one of the most important aspects of your duty as an Auror. Physical ability is not only a requirement, but a necessity. Often in our line of work we must rely on our non-magical abilities to accomplish a mission. We live in a world of Muggles, and realistically, unless you manage to taint an entire water supply with forgetfulness, you will be limited in your magic skills.”

“Not only that- this is team-building. How you demonstrate today is an indicator of how you’ll perform in the future as a team. You will work with wizards and witches of different backgrounds. As none of you here are blood-relations, it is a perfect opportunity to measure how effective you are negotiating with each other in a group. Well, what say you, candidates?”

“Yes sergeant!” the group replied.

“Bones, you lead squad one. Potter, you will be in squad two. As soon as the first squad navigates the first obstacle, you and your fellow candidates will begin.”

Tom nodded vigorously, inhaling in a quick breath. While it was true that he was not the most physically fit, he was confident that with enough effort, his team would succeed. _I can prove myself today._

“Go ahead, squad one.” The sergeant indicated, stepping aside. As he did so, an obstacle literally appeared out of thin air-a tall, wooden wall spanning at least the height of three men.

_Must have made it invisible,_ Tom noted in surprise.

“Bones, lead your group through the obstacle. Other candidates: Turn and face away.”

Tom inwardly groaned. Of course. In the interest of watching the first squads’ successes, he had thought that would have hopefully determined his own. _I’m clever enough to figure it out without watching them. I can do this._

After a good deal of time had passed, (and the noticeable cursing and labours of breath from the first team) did Potter and his team find themselves in front of the wall.

“I think the best way is if I sit at the top of the wall, and directed our team, one at a time, to ascend the wall from below.” Tom started, standing authoritatively in front of the wall.

Another candidate shook her head, “No, Potter, you should be at the bottom, lifting the team.” Murmurs of agreement came from the other three members of the team, but Tom wasn’t having it.

“So I push everyone up and then get dragged up? I’m not the fittest.”

“No, but you are the tallest,” countered his female teammate, “You can lift the smaller members.“

“How can I see what we’re supposed to do if I’m stuck pushing people over the bloody wall?”  
  
“It makes the most sense Potter, we have to navigate the wall, not supervise it.” another teammate interrupted, his hazel eyes creasing in annoyance.

“I would do better at the middle, I can hoist the smaller members, up, and guide-“ Tom argued.

“The decision is made, Potter!” the female snapped. The other three candidates likewise stared at Tom, who felt his face flush in irritation.

“Fine!” he conceded.

While the team did eventually conquer the wall challenge, it was clearly slower than the first team. Tom felt resentful being relegated to a drudge position within the group. The second obstacle-the wagon pull- had the same incident: with him challenging the plan, and the team’s ignoring of them. Only until the third obstacle did they consider Tom’s advice.

“I can jump down.”

“You’ll break your leg,” the female candidate, who had self-designated herself as leader, commented, “But if you’re dumb enough to try it-“

“Try learning physics,” Tom snapped. “Watch this.”

He leapt from great height- while dropping 6 meters, he managed to safely impact the ground… despite a small jolt through his spine.  
  
_I won’t die._

He waited, but the rest of the team did not follow his lead. Instead, they took ropes, and slowly lowered themselves to the ground. Because of this, team two had the slowest of the times: whereas other groups had speedily conquered the others.

_Because they didn’t listen to me._ Tom frowned in irritation, and was likewise met with a similar look by the female.

The sergeant approached them all.

“Congratulations team three for first place, followed by teams one and four. Your teams will have the evening off from duty. Team two, as last place, you will be designated as kitchen duty.”

“Now, retrieve your wands from your barracks, and we will continue with the rest of the day’s lesson: how to navigate physical challenges… _with_ magic.”

Despite the trying nature of the morning, Tom Potter felt a sense of vindication.

_Magic is Might_ , he thought to himself.

 

“Now candidates, our selection time has come. If your name is called, please approach the podium.”

Tom Potter stood at attention amongst the group of potential Aurors. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he was motionless, looking towards the front of the room.

“Gerard, Peter.”

The boy walked up to the podium. A nearby wizard opened a door, allowing the boy to pass through.

“McCormick, Amanda.”

A short witch with long blonde hair likewise walked up to the podium, following the path of the first boy.

“Potter, Tom.”

Tom swallowed his nervousness and approached the podium. “Yes sir?”

The man on the podium didn't budge. “Join your peers in the evaluation room.”

The young candidate walked past the podium, entering the room behind them. The two other called candidates were sitting on a sofa. Tom immediately noticed tear-trails on the girl's face and opened his mouth to comment. He was interrupted as the door behind him magically slammed shut.

“Mr. Potter,” came a voice from across the room. “Please be seated.”

Tom walked over to a handsome armchair, sitting down. The girl on the sofa sniffed wetly, and Tom felt his heart rate increase.

“Now as I mentioned to you two,” a man behind an onyx desk continued, “this is no means a reflection on your character or your capabilities. However, as based on your peer-evaluations from your classmates, this is a unanimous decision.”

Tom sat upright, licking his lips in nervousness. “Peer evaluations?” he repeated.

“Yes.” The man took out a stack of parchments and tapped the topmost one. “Potter, you specifically were rated least likely to be cooperative in a wizarding unit. As an Auror, you must be reliant and open with your fellow professionals. Your fellow students expressed that you were not. You are not suitable for continued training.”

“Wh...What!” Tom's felt bile prickling at the back of his throat. “Are you saying...” his voiced sunk to a whisper.

“Yes, Mr. Potter. You are dismissed from the Auror program.”

 

** Notes: **

_Sunset flight: Romantic Flight (2010) How to Train your Dragon ._

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r9TanR_3M0o>

_Falling: Spirited Away (2002)_

<https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/9c/2e/91/9c2e91d45b2e751866f8ec9b2157fcde.jpg>

_Fleamont Potter_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Fleamont_Potter>

_Euphemia Potter_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Euphemia_Potter>


	16. Chapter 16

Tom sat on his bed, feeling lost. A solitary tear had trickled down his face. While it had fell down to his robes, he had not bothered wiping off its evidence. He held in his hands a manila parchment, declaring his removal from the Auror program.

“You have two days,” the sergeant had explained, no longer bothering to keep his angry demeanor, “After that, Mr. Potter, you must leave the premises.”

The wizard had hesitated, then gesturing to Tom's belongings, “You can challenge the decision. Write them a letter. It might change your outcome.”

Tom had begun to write down his thoughts, but the more he wrote, the angrier he had become.

 _This was based on peer evaluations...._ the man thought scornfully. He looked around the room, but it was empty- the other candidates had training that day.

“I would have graduated in three days.” Tom said to no one. “Three days.” He choked, feeling stress in the pit of his stomach.  
  
Tom stared at the sea of bunks, wishing he knew a curse or hex to leave upon then. He grabbed his suitcase, and with a wave of his wand, shrunk it into palm size. Placing the tiny suitcase in his pocket, he walked out into the afternoon air.

“How am I going to tell them....” Tom said to himself, feeling his eyes begin to well at the dreaded meeting of him and his guardian. “How can I tell him I failed?”

Tom closed his eyes, new streams of tears falling down from his face. He raised his arm, and with a CRACK of magic, he was gone.

 

“Again!” gasped Harry, from where he was pinned below Tom Riddle.

“You call me insatiable!” Riddle groaned and rolled off of Harry, flopping his longs arm out in the bed as he stared up at the ceiling, “You're lucky I have enough stamina for you.”

“Are you counting the potion you drink before our encounters as stamina?” teased Harry, lying adjacently to his lover, “Because some would consider that cheating.”

“You are the worst.” Riddle grumbled, taking his hands and running it through his hair, collecting beads of sweat on his forehead as he sat up in the bed.

Harry likewise sat up, and the two shared in a kiss. Embracing Harry, Tom begin to slide a hand up and down his back, gently tracing where the jet-black feathers originated in Harry's back.

“I can't imagine you wingless.” Riddle admitted, stroking the downy feathers. “Even when you disguise them it is strange to me.”

“Well, considering our first encounter, I'm not at all surprised my wings dominate your memories.”

“Being pinned down by an older man in bed, who would have thought we would start out that way.” Riddle said sarcastically.

“Our relationship is pretty fucked up.” Harry admitted. “Considering who you were in my lifetime.”

“I would say fucked down if I were you.” Riddle replied, dropping his hand from the feathers to squeeze Harry's thigh.

The two lovers resumed kissing each other, and Riddle began to gently rock his hips towards Harry, who gave him a him a small moan.

“Again?” asked Tom Riddle.

“Again.” agreed Harry Potter.

 

“Harry... Tom!” Tom Potter called as he entered in 13 Lavenham place. “Are you here?”

The house was uncharacteristically empty, and as Tom walked through the home, he had the distinct feeling the two were not home. A pile of mail littered near the staircase, and as Tom walked around in the kitchen, there was no sign of Harry or Riddle's presence.

_I guess it's better this way.... I can't think of what to even say._

“Hi Harry and Tom, guess what, I failed out of Auror candidate school because I'm not a team player. Guess I should go work as a security wizard!” Tom said bitterly to himself

A creaking noise emitted from the upstairs, and Tom paused from his place in the kitchen, looking up to the ceiling.

“Are you two up there?” he muttered.

Tom walked out of the kitchen towards the staircase, the sound of creaks and a groaning sound emitting from his guardian's room.

“Harry?” Tom knocked on the door, hearing another series of odd noises emitting from behind the black door. “I have to tell you something...” Tom called, and grasped the doorknob, pushing the door open easily.

And then he saw red.

 

Tom Riddle groaned as he moved above Harry Potter, his lover hissing in encouragement.

“Tom...” Harry panted in pleasure, wings flapping in excitement from where he was pinned down in the bed by Riddle. “Marvolo...”

“You are mine, Harry Potter.” declared Tom Riddle, giving an enthusiastic thrust, head dipping down to bite at his lover's collarbone, feeling Harry's hands running through his longer hair.

But suddenly Harry stopped moving below Riddle, as his neon eyes cast over to the doorway. Riddle was unceremoniously shoved off him, as the winged man sat-upright in the bed.

“Tom?” Harry said weakly. Riddle stared at Harry in confusion, following his gaze until he saw...

 

"Is that it then?" Tom Potter roared from the doorway, "YOU'VE BEEN WITH EACH OTHER THIS WHOLE TIME BEHIND MY BACK!?"

His guardian raised a hand, but Tom stuck his wand out, threateningly.  "It's him, isn't it!" " _IT'S ALWAYS BEEN HIM!"_

"It's not like that!" his guardian pleaded, wrapping a white sheet around his hips as he climbed out of the bed. "I had to Tom, you don't understand-"

"Had to what?" said Riddle, eyes refocused on the winged man. When he did not answer, Riddle grabbed his arm from where he still lay in the bed. " _Had to what!"_

"You two have been sleeping with each other, what's so hard to understand?" hissed Tom. "You had to? Please. No one has to do anything unless they want to."

When his guardian did not answer, Tom motioned to the door with his wand, sending it flying open. He took a half-step out the door, only pausing to look over his shoulder.

"I hope he makes _you_ happy."

The only sound to follow was the crack of his Disapparation. The two remaining men paused silently, as a wisp of dust blew past the door. The winged man stared out, a look of grief on his face.

Riddle slowly released his grip from the other man's arm, a dawning realization on him. "You are saying you had to sleep with me, is that it?" he said quietly, rising to his feet.

"Tom, I..."

"No." he stepped away, as Harry approached. Tom Riddle kept his hands positioned in a gesture of rejection, "That was it all along. You never believed in me. You never cared. You just wanted to prevent the rise of the Dark Lord. "

"Tom.." the man said, raising his eyes to lock with his own, neon eyes betraying him.

"I don't need to use Legilimency to read your mind." Riddle said, quietly. "You can sense emotions. You knew how I felt about you. And you used that against me."

Riddle walked forward, following to where Tom Potter had gone. He paused in the entrance-way, shoulders stiffened. With a wordless wave of his hand, his robes flew onto his body. The man then released a breath, turning once more to face into the room.

"I love you." said Tom Riddle.

"I know." replied Harry Potter.

Riddle then faced away, taking a small step and Disapparating from the room.

The winged man buried his face in his hands.

 

"Tom!" yelled Riddle, as he approached the barracks of the Auror candidates.

"Piss off." came the reply.

Riddle scowled. "Look, you need to know a few things-"

"Like what?" a spell came flying towards him, which he thankfully dodged- "How I'm a _failure?_ How my own brother has been fucking my-"

"Your what?" Riddle said quietly.

"Get bent, Riddle." the man hissed, aiming his wand at Riddle's chest.

“Why are we fighting, Tom?” Riddle asked, walking up to the other man. Tom's wand dug into his sternum, but Riddle did not move away. “We have nothing to fight over.”

“You're with Harry,” Tom snarled, “That's grounds for us to be against each other.”

“Not anymore.” Riddle replied, still standing in Tom's pathway. “We're not together.”

Tom Potter growled, wand digging into his doppelganger's chest. “You're not together?” he repeated, eyes slitting in suppressed rage, “Then explain what I saw.”

Riddle gave a sigh, pushing Tom's wand aside. “Harry was only with me because...because he felt sympathy for me.”

Tom Potter scowled, “He's as dumb as you are then. Sympathy for _you_.”

Riddle reached over, gripping Tom's shoulder. “I won't argue that. Look, me and Harry are through. I came here for a reason. I want to turn things around with you.”

Tom held still, Riddle's hand still on his shoulder. “Turn this around? As if I can burn the image of you two out of my mind. No amount of memory charms can fix what I saw.”

“I have a job offer.” Riddle persisted, tapping his fingers on Tom's shoulder, “At Borgin and Burkes. I could get you one too. We could work together. Let's move past our mutual disappointments and break new ground.”

“Work with you after all this?” Tom said, hollowly. “What do you take me for? Why would you think I want to work with you...ever?”

“Where else can you go, what else can you do?” Riddle said, pointedly. “You're not an Auror. You don't have another job. Unless you are planning moving back in with Harry?”

“Thanks for that additional reminder, Tom. Any other wisdom you should add, before I leave you with a hex?”

Riddle sighed and dropped his hands in defeat. “Look...I... am sorry, Tom.”

“Sorry?” Tom stared, as if Riddle had sprouted a pair of horns, “Did I just hear you apologize?”

Riddle grimaced. “Yes you did, and no, I won't say it again.”

“Well, I'm not forgiving you.” Tom said.

“I don't expect you to. We're family- not friends.”

“As if we're even that.” Tom finalized crossly.

 

Caractacus Burke scrutinized them both from behind the counter top of Borgin and Burkes.

“Mr. Riddle, and, remind me...”

“Potter.” came the flat reply to Tom Riddle's left.

“Eh, you look exactly the same. I'll just call you both Riddle.”

Tom took an angry step forward, but Riddle extended his arm outwards, blocking Tom's furious pathway towards Burke. “That'll be fine, Sir.”

The man raised an eyebrow at Tom's angry start, but shrugged, continuing on: “Well, you two need to get out and about this week, that's for sure. Not much business in the shop during the summer months.” Caractacus drew forth a large book, slamming it down on the countertop. “Let's see what we need done.”

The two boys leaned over, Tom looking at the headline that was appearing towards the top of the page.

“Hepzibah Smith?” He read off, as the enchanted ink dotted the i's in the name.

“Lord, that woman.” Caractacus gave a shake of his head, wiping his forehead with a dusty rag he pulled from the beneath the counter top “I wouldn't wish her on my worst enemy. But she took a liking to you, Mr. Riddle, last time she was here.” The man gave a leer, which had Tom scowling in return. “She's asked about you.”

“What should we do?” Riddle asked, politely, disregarding Tom's glare.

“She's got a set of goblin made armour,” Burke continued, drawing forth another parchment that had an address and pricing information on it, “She wants 20,000 galleons for it. I want it for 5,000.”

“There's no way,” Tom said bluntly, “No one would take that kind of pay cut.”

Burke gave them both a smile that would cause a crocodile tears. “I wouldn't be too worried if I were you. Misses Smith takes a shining to you, you'll get the deal.” The man reached below the counter for the second time, drawing out a box marked 'Floo.'

“Now,” the elder man added, tapping the box as he spoke, “When you're there, see if the Misses is looking to buy some antiques as well. Might as well get a sale in while you're at her home. She's a collector of all sorts of historical oddities, so be sure to mention any of our latest acquisitions to her.”

“Yes sir.” Riddle replied dutifully. “Was there anything else we should relay on your behalf?”

“Stick to the sale, Mr. Riddle. And if you are able to both acquire the armour and sell a product, you can certainly expect a large bonus at the end of the month.” Burke spread his arms out, as to empathize the implied rewards, “Use your talents of persuasion- use any means necessary.”

“Any means?” Tom muttered under his breath, “We can only imagine what means he'll use.” This earned him a sharp jab in the abdomen from Riddle's elbow. “Ouch!”

“We'll do our best, Mr. Burke.” Riddle said, as Caractacus handed over the Floo powder box. The elder man grunted, and waved them off to the next room, with a reminder: “5,000 galleons, boys!”

Tom gave a disbelieving shake of his head, but walked into the adjoining room where the shop's fireplace was located, a room otherwise occupied by miscellaneous knick-knacks and boxes.

“Are you trying to lose your job?” Riddle asked, as they moved across the room towards the fireplace.

“This isn't my job.” Tom said with a glare, while Riddle drew forth the green powder out of the box of Floo. “It's yours. I am not some sleazy salesman, despite what you seem to think passes as an acceptable career. In fact, much of what you think of me is wrong. Especially considering the circumstances of why I'm here at all.”

“You still sore on Harry, are you?” Riddle remarked.

“Well gee, let's think about it.” Tom growled. “You with my guardian, having what I assume to be multiple encounters. The answer is still a resounding yes.”

“It's been over a month,” Riddle replied, “And you've been with me the entire time. How repentant can I be?”

“Maybe if I didn't have a soul and a set of eyes I would have moved on.” grumbled Tom.

“Touché." replied Riddle.

 

“Oh, Tom Riddle!” came the high pitch voice of Hepzibah Smith from within the home. “Do come into the parlour, please!”

Both Toms stood in front of the fireplace, having used Floo powder to travel to the home. They had been greeted by a House elf, but at the sound of Riddle's voice, their client had immediately responded, much to Tom's surprise.

“She must have ears like a fox.” Tom said in disbelief.

“She's rich, she can hear an opportunity a mile away,” Riddle added, as the House Elf bounded ahead towards his Mistress's parlour.

“An opportunity with you.” Tom remarked, while Riddle gave a lofty shrug of his shoulders, “I still struggle with the idea you sell yourself.”

Riddle walked in front of Tom, non-plussed. “We could use the money.”

The two entered into the parlour, an expanse of linens and pinks. Tom observed large paintings with depictions of birds and rabbits, and a rather large badger motif above the sofa. Underneath it sat a heavyset woman dressed in similar pinks, a large necklace around her thick neck.

“Oh Tom, you didn't tell me you had a twin!” She gushed, large hands going up to her face in delight. “You two are the spitting image of each other. How lucky am I!”

“We aren't twi-” Tom said, but Riddle cut him off.

“Indeed, Ms. Smith, my brother is honoured to make your acquaintance, as am I likewise pleased to be invited into your home.” Riddle walked forward, and Hepzibah extended her hand out, to which Riddle kissed.

“Oh Tom, you are such the charmer.” she giggled, as the House elf brought forth a plate of biscuits and tea. “Please, take a seat.”

Tom gagged, but Riddle only shot him a partway glare, and the two sat down on two drawn chairs.

“Now I imagine you're on business for that dreadful Caractacus Burke?” Hepzibah snapped her fingers, and the old House elf held up to her a poured cup of tea, “It's practically criminal what he wants for my treasured armour set. Hand forged by goblins, you know.” She took the teacup in her pudgy hands, sipping it with gusto.

“I'm afraid so,” Riddle said calmly, “But as a woman of your standing, parting with such an old, decrepit piece would give you the means to acquire rarer items.” The man gestured to the large badger motif hung over the sofa. “For someone as passionate about history as you are.”

Tom began to snort, but quickly disguised it as a cough. Hepzibah took no notice but followed Riddle's hand upwards.

“Ah yes,” she gave a large sigh, shaking her large torso, “As my ancestor, Helga Hufflepuff would have said herself. You know me so well, Tom.” The woman batted her heavy lashes, while Tom Potter discreetly rolled his eyes.

“But speaking of ancestry, I wanted to show you something, Tom.” Hepzibah snapped her fingers again. “Hokey, fetch my pendant and cup.”

The old House elf took a wobbly bow and disappeared with her own snap of fingers. The three sat in brief silence.

“So...a pendant and a cup?” Tom finally spoke up, as to break the silence. “Has this anything to do with your hereditary?”

“Clever boy,” Hepzibah winked at him, “Partially, but let's not break the mystery. Why don't you both take some tea? I personally put two lumps of sugar in mine.” The woman did just that, scooping two large spoonfuls of sugar into her small cup.

Tom helped himself but noticed Riddle did not. With his own shrug, Tom added some creamer into his tea, turning it from black to a muddled brown. He began to sip as a loud _SNAP_ announced the return of the house elf.

“Now Hokey, give me the pendant.” The elderly witch gestured with her stubby fingers towards Hokey, who only shook momentarily, then approached her with a small , red velvet box.  As soon as Hepzibah  placed her tea cup down, the witch snatched the velvet in her large hands. Cracking the box open, she pulled out a golden pendant, a gleaming _S_ imprinted on the amber stone with tiny green stones.

“One of my greatest treasures,” Hepzibah crowed in triumph, as the necklace spun and sparkled in the afternoon light, “The locket of Salazar Slytherin!”

Riddle and Tom both sucked in mutual surprised breaths.

“Salazar Slytherin?” Tom blurted out. “ _The Salazar Slytherin_?”

As he finished, Tom shot a look over towards Riddle. Riddle was staring at the locket fixedly, and a scarlet gleam was in his eye. Disturbed, Tom immediately nudged his elbow into Riddle, which broke him from his trance.

“Why yes!” Hepzibah warbled on, oblivious to the tension in the room, “And not only Slytherin's locket- Hokey, the other package!”

“Yes Missus.” the old House elf drew out a navy-blue velvet box, which was larger than the one that had held the locket.

“Let's put this down,” Hepzibah placed the locket back into its casing, while the two young men both noticed the locket's brief gleam of light before it was encased again.

“Quite a piece you have,” Riddle said, eyes trained on the red velvet box. “Priceless, really.”

“Oh, this old thing? Well I suppose it is,” the woman replied, “But certainly not as much as this,” continued Hepzibah, oblivious to Riddle's fascination with the pendant, “Gentlemen, the cup of my ancestor, Helga Hufflepuff!”

Tom nudged Riddle again, and the two watched as Hepzibah drew out a golden cup, embossed with stones. On the side was a badger motif, similar to the one hanging on the wall above them.

“Beautiful, isn't it?” she crooned. “Passed down in my family for generations. Would you like to hold it?”

Riddle's grey eyes darted back to the red box, as Tom nudged him again. When no reply came, Tom shrugged his shoulders, “I'll hold it, Ms. Smith.”

Hepzibah sent a disappointed glance at the disinterested Tom Riddle but lit up at Tom Potter's acquiescence. “Here you are!”

Tom took the cup in his long fingers, and held it up, inspecting the small stones and tracing the figure of the Badger. After peering inside the gold cup, he looked up, to meet Hepzibah's expectant gaze. “You are right, Missus Smith. This is a priceless heirloom.”

The woman all but fell out of her chair in excitement. “You do think that, Mr-”

“Potter.” Tom finished.

“Mr. Potter,” the woman batted her eyelashes. “Would you like to see the pendant as well?”

Tom felt a pinch in his arm, and he shrugged his shoulder to dislodge the fingers. Scowling, he turned back to the large woman. “I think my brother would be honoured to see it first.”

“I see,” Helga took back her cup, placing it on the table dividing the three of them. She then redrew the pendant, handing it over to Riddle.

Riddle held the pendant up, dangling it in the air. His grey eyes focused on the embossed _'S’_ and turned it 'round to observe the many facets of the stone. Riddle spoke again, slower than before- “Ms. Smith, how did you acquire this... locket?”

“Oh, you know, I saw it for sale in your employer's shop, and I thought to myself... a founder's heirloom! How exotic to find, when I already had the Hufflepuff cup. I could start a collection, you know,” the woman babbled on, “If only I could locate the treasures of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, such a collection it would be!”

“I see,” Riddle said, distantly. He brought it closer, nearly eye to stone, and twisted it back and forth, inspecting each facet of Slytherin's locket.

“Let me see the necklace.” demanded Tom.

Riddle let out a slow hiss of breath but bequeathed the pendant over to Tom. Tom took the pendant, then laid it against his palm to inspect the jeweled ' _S_ '.

“Did Mr. Burke ever mention how it came to be for sale?” Tom asked, fingers delicately tracing the ridges of the pendant.

Hepzibah shook her head, curled hair wisping around her round face. “Mr. Burke never discussed its background with me. Only that it been a ragged-looking woman.”

“I see.” remarked Tom. He replaced the pendant back in its box, eyeing the last gleam of the amber colored stone. The three of them spoke more, discussing the potential of the goblin armour. Mostly, it consisted of Tom speaking on behalf for Riddle on negotiating the price, as the other was preoccupied. For Riddle's eyes never left the box which held Slytherin's locket inside.

 

“You're quiet.” said Tom as the two left Borgin and Burkes. “No excitement that we got the goblin armour for 5,000 galleons?”

“Mm.” said Riddle, distractedly.

“I would think such a dashing salesman as yourself would be taking someone out to the pub to celebrate. Or should that be me in this case?” Tom added slyly. When Riddle did not reply, this led to Tom punching his shoulder, remarking:

“Come it off Tom, you're still not thinking about Slytherin's Locket?”

That grabbed Riddle's attention. He jerked upright, staring back at the other man intently. “What about it?” He asked, grey eyes gleaming with alertness.

“Well if it's truly Slytherin's pendant and not some knock-off,” said Tom, “I guess in some way it-”

“Belongs to me.” finished Riddle. This had Tom pausing in mid-step, but then he resumed walking at Riddle's side, as the alleyway became narrower as it transitioned from Knockturn to Diagon Alley

“Well, yes and no.” said Tom, crossing his arms as they made their way out into the bustling Diagon Alley, dodging a witch carrying several parcels, “By hereditary it should, but at some point it must have fallen out of your family's hands. The rightful owner is Ms. Smith.”

Riddle got an ugly look on his face while staring ahead at shops selling cauldrons, broomsticks, and books, drifting past passerby wizards and witches. “It's not her family. She's descended from Hufflepuff. I am Slytherin's Heir. It is mine by right.”

“You haven't said that in a long time,” remarked Tom as they made their way past Diagon Alley's final rows of shops. “But when it's convenient, suddenly you are the Heir. Who is to say there's not more than one Slytherin Heir?”

“I don't have any siblings save you,” Riddle remarked. “And that's only by our father.”

“Well, maybe you have cousins?”

“I would assume they would have made themselves known by now.” Riddle said with a derisive snort.

“Maybe in America?” suggested Tom. “Or Australia?”

“They can stay there forgotten.” Riddle grumbled. “Potter, that locket is mine by right. I intend that it returns to its rightful owner.”

“I doubt she'll sell it to you,” Tom replied, oblivious to the dropping temperature at his right shoulder. “Maybe you can loan it from her.”

“She won't loan it to me,” Riddle said bluntly. “I'm taking it.”

“So, you'll steal it.”

Riddle sent his double a look of dismissal. “I haven't said that, Potter, so don't put words in my mouth.”

“Tell me you won't.” Tom persisted, squaring off against Riddle. “Because I don't believe you, and I've already had enough of the Ministry of Magic-”

“I'm not suffering melodrama from you, Potter. Go find someone else to air your grievances. I am not interested.” Riddle then abruptly turned into the Leaky Cauldron without another word, leaving the other Tom standing out alone in Diagon Alley.

“I'll see you at the flat later then!” he yelled after Riddle, watching him disappear into the throng milling about inside the Cauldron. When no reply came from within, Tom let out a muttered curse.

Realizing he was now left to his own devices, Tom Potter took a few steps backwards from the entryway, giving himself enough room from the door. When that was accomplished, Tom quickly Disapparated off the cobblestone street outside the pub, leaving Riddle and Diagon Alley behind.

 

“One more firewhiskey for the road.” Riddle placed down a well-earned galleon on the pub's bar, sliding it towards the barkeep's wife. A buxom woman of blonde hair, she gave a suggestive wink towards Riddle, and slid back a generously poured liquor.

Riddle, feeling her eyes on him, decided to quickly make his way across the Leaky Cauldron to increase their distance. He had drank three whiskeys, making the current beverage his fourth. He was starting to feel its effects, compounded by the fact he had not eaten since that morning.

Riddle slammed the final firewhiskey back, feeling its burn in the back of his throat. After the burning had dissipated, he placed the glass on an empty table near to the door.

He scanned the room again, but the crowd had thinned out, making the likelihood of running into anyone of importance at an all-time low. But that worry did not dominate his thoughts. Instead, he watched what must have been the owner's dog trot from behind the counter over to the fireplace, making itself comfortable on the rug.

“That locket... sho' be mine.” he muttered to no-one.

Riddle eyed the door leading into London, and the opposing wall that would lead back into Diagon Alley. He was in the midst of formulating an ill-contrived plan of paying a visit to Hepzibah Smith when his plans were halted.

A large rumble of thunder from outside interrupted his thoughts, and the windows of the pub began accumulating fat droplets of rain. The dog let out a startled bark, leaving the fireplace to go under the table at the sound of the loud noise. The barkeep and his wife waved out the remaining guests, and Riddle found himself on the opposing side of the bar, at the gateway leading into London.

Riddle stumbled out into the wet, as Londoners scurried to and fro out of way, eager to escape the rain. Riddle did not particular care that he was strangely dressed for London. This was partially due to his inebriation, and partially to his fixation on the locket.

However, his distraction would soon be his cause of distress. He stepped into a particularly large puddle in the middle of the street, cursing as the insides of his leather loafers filled with dirty rainwater.  

A taxi cab honked at him as he slopped through the puddle, and Riddle returned with a rude gesture with his hand, crossing the street in defiance. “Bloody Muggles,” he cursed, watching the taxi cab speed off.

The rain continued to fall, and Riddle stumbled into a nearby alleyway, nearly tripping over several crates in his haste to get out of the storm. He weaved back and forth on the slippery cobblestones. It was becoming increasingly difficult to walk upon in his inebriated state.

“'Ey! Check out this loon.” a deep voice called from behind him.

“Aye, a wee bit lost!” came another with a high voice.

“Shouldn'a come down this way, lad.” added a third.

Riddle turned himself around. He made out three men that had entered the alleyway and were now approaching with the intent to corner him. His robes fluttered as turned, droplets of rain pelting off the dark cloth.

“I suppose you lot are trying to - _hic_ \- rob me.”

“Whassat he's wearing?” said the high voiced man. “Ain't never seen that before.”

“Bloody foreigner. Let's make this quick.” came from the deep voiced man.

The third simply drew forth a knife. “Give us yer wallet, Frenchie.”

Riddle drew out his wand, still weaving to and fro like a serpent, “You are _-hic-_ going to regret this, Muggles. Last chance.”

“Whassat he call us, Muggles?”

“It don' matter Bert, grab hol' of him!”

But before Riddle could mutter an incantation that would send his three aggressors into a jelly legs jinx did a sudden black blur drop from above, striking into the leader of the men.

_WHUMP._

“Ernie!” cried Bert, backpedaling from the wings.

“Wha' the blue blazes is that!” yelped his companion, dropping the knife in shock.

Riddle 's blurred vision made out the shadow’s big black wings, looking all the world as a soaked raven might. Droplets of water were flicking off the wildly beating appendages, as the aforementioned Ernie was pinned beneath. The other two men backed away, leaving Ernie struggling on the ground.

“Demon!” cried Bert, backing away.

“Let's jolt!” cried the third, giving a helpless look towards Ernie. In his haste to distance himself, the man left his knife on the ground, where it picked up dirty rainwater from a nearby gutter.

“Don't leave me!” begged Ernie from where he squirmed below, trapped beneath large, wet wings and unable to free himself.

If Riddle hadn't drank so much he might have laughed. Instead he let out a wheeze of air, as the two men scattered, leaving their companion behind. His savior mumbled something inaudible in Ernie's ear, as the man whimpered below. After some understanding had been made was Ernie then set free, and he too ran after his fellows. Riddle's savior then stood up tall, electric eyes locking with Riddle's own.

“Why are you here 'Arry.” Riddle demanded, pointing the wand at him now, “I don' need your bloody help.”

Harry sighed, drawing back his wings from where he had been framing his face. The combination of the rain and increasing darkness of the alleyway made his neon eyes shine like cat eyes in the dark. “I was watching you.” he admitted.

Riddle glared. “How long?”

Harry bowed his head, the rain streaking through his midnight black hair as he stared at the cobblestone streets. “Since you entered the Cauldron,” His great black wings wrapped around himself like a cape, giving Riddle the illusion of a black cloak of feathers. 

“I have been waiting for the past several weeks to speak with you.” Harry continued, sadness in his voice as he raised his head.

“Weeks?” Riddle replied, but Harry only wrapped his wings tighter around himself, continuing:

“I have missed you both. I have made it habit to come to Diagon Alley daily if only to see one of you for a brief moment. I have seen you both on occasion, but I have found it difficult to find the right words to say.”

Perhaps it was the rain, the liquor, or the darkness, but in that moment, Riddle could somewhat see how Harry must have looked like in his youth. Standing in the rain, pale skin with sad eyes gave Tom Riddle the impression of a lost child. He let out a breath, feeling his anger fade.

“Don' need you Potter.” Riddle said dismissively, trying to pass the other man. But he then stumbled on a loose cobblestone, and suddenly Harry was there, holding him up.

“Perhaps you don't.” said Harry softly, “But I insist.”

 

Harry and Tom Riddle stood together outside of the current flat that was now the residence of both the Toms. The rain had finally stopped, but both of them were soaked to the bone. Harry held Riddle's arm over his shoulder as he walked them up to the flat, only letting go when their footsteps lead up to the placemat aligned in front of the door.

“I'm going in this flat-” Riddle took a breath, feeling his head clear a little more, despite still weaving on his feet, “-and you're going away.”

Harry gave another distraught look, and Riddle cursed, his heart rate increasing. “I mean it Potter. Ge' lost.”

“Tom...did you mean what you said to me before?” Harry said quietly, “Before you left?”

“What I said?” Riddle grumbled. “About you goin' away. Yes, I meant that.”

“When you said that you loved me.” Harry interrupted, holding Riddle's hands up to him now, his shining eyes boring into Riddle's own. “Do you?” The two held hands at eye level, Riddle's grey interlocked with the neon green.

_Of course I-_

“No Potter, I don't love you.” Riddle said bluntly, letting go of Harry's hands, “So the feeling is mutual now.”

Harry wrung his hands together, sadness evident in his normally neutral features. “I cannot ask your forgiveness, for what I have done is unforgivable. I only ask for a second chance.”

“A second chance? With you?” Riddle replied, the liquor's blur finally receding as its effects began to slow. His brain, having been in a hazy state since he had left the pub, was finally sharpening, and Riddle felt his wit returning.

“You do not have to love me. But... we can still be...”

“Lovers?” Riddle asked. Harry gave out a full exhale of breath, giving a slow nod.

“I do miss the sex.” Riddle admitted.

Harry closed his eyes. “As do I.”

The two men faced each other, Riddle on the topmost step, with Harry on the bottom step.  A silence passed, the only noise the flutter of Harry's wings in the cool breeze.

The two then crossed the invisible divide, and embraced, breathing heavily as they kissed deeply. Riddle's hand came to the back of Harry's head, giving a dominating kiss. The kiss was enthusiastically reciprocated.

Harry's arms wrapped around Tom Riddle's neck, dragging him down closer. They spent several minutes dueling with tongues. Finally, Riddle broke away, staring down at Harry in lust as he exhaled in quick, excited breaths.

“Tom's a deep sleeper. Come inside.”

 

Sources:

_"I love you." "I know."  Star Wars, the Empire Strikes Back, 1980_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kdlRmWd_R7A>

_Hepzibah Smith_

[http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hepzibah_Smith](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hepzibah_SmithI)

_Salazar Slytherin's locket_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Salazar_Slytherin%27s_Locket>

_Hufflepuff's cup_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Helga_Hufflepuff%27s_Cup>

_“Maybe in America? Or Australia?”_

_“They can stay there forgotten.”_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Isolt_Sayre>

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Gormlaith_Gaunt>

 


	17. Chapter 17

“So, you and Harry are back together.”

“Well...yes.”

Tom Riddle and Tom Potter were sitting in Riddle's flat, having a discussion over tea and biscuits. The flat was relatively new, located on the outskirts of Diagon Alley. It was close to the divide between the wizarding world and the Muggle world, which lurked outside their window. Neither of the inhabitants paid it much mind.

Riddle took the tea pot, pouring himself and Tom cups of tea. “He wants to make amends with you.”

Tom Potter scowled. “Considering it was he who re-initiated your relationship? I don't want anything to do with him.”

“So, you accept I have a relationship, but not Harry?”

“Fuck off, you know the answer to that,” Tom said, picking up his cup, flipping a rude gesture with his other hand.

“Harry'll hate that response.”

“Well he's really going to hate what I'm going to do next.” replied Tom caustically. The man dug into his robes, and drew out a parchment, which was tied with a green string.

“New job position for Mr. Burke.” he said, undoing the string and unrolling the full parchment, “Since I was so successful in acquiring the goblin armour.”

“You said it was you that made that sale?” Riddle scoffed, “I'm pretty sure I played a part in that.”

“It was all me, idiot,” Tom replied, rolling his eyes, “You were too busy fawning over that locket.”

Riddle's eyes gleamed, but Tom only gave him a dismissive look. “I'd leave it if I were you. Mr. Burke'll never keep you around if you plan on stealing.”

“Me steal?”

“You would.” Tom said wisely.

“So, what's this new job Mr. Burke is offering?” Riddle said, changing the subject.

“International Magical acquisitions,” Tom replied, crossing his arms in triumph. “Read the topmost sentence.”

“ _International_ Magical Acquisitions?” Riddle said, leaning over to better read the parchment.

Tom nodded, leaning back as Riddle continued to read: “Starting September first, this document declares Tom Potter to be assigned to the position of Magical Acquisitions on International business on behalf of Borgin and Burkes.”

Riddle looked up to Tom, who helped himself to another biscuit. “So... you're leaving.”

“Yep.” Tom said. “I'm leaving the United Kingdom, the stuffy store, and most importantly, you two behind.” His face showed suppressed irritation, “So make sure you let Harry know not to come looking for me in Diagon Alley.”

Riddle sighed, reading over the parchment again. After having given it a thorough reading, Riddle added- “I won't deny that it is a good opportunity. It is. But I would advise you not to leave, given the circumstances.”

“Well, it is a good thing I don't listen to your advice.” Tom added sagely. “Since I'm going anyway, with or without your blessing.”

“Harry will hate it,” Riddle added, helping himself to another biscuit. “You sure about this?”

“I hope he does,” Tom said primly, lowering his teacup. “I really hope he does.”

 

“I really hate this.” Harry said miserably.

Tom Riddle and Harry Potter sat side by side on the roof of one of the many shops of Diagon Alley. This would be peculiar to some, but, according to Harry, his patience for the hustle and bustle of Diagon Alley had worn thin over the years. So instead Riddle had joined him sitting on a rooftop, overlooking the crowded streets below.

“It's school shopping time,” Riddle observed, attempting to not pay mind to Harry's unhappiness, “Look at all the young Hogwarts students. Think on how excited they all must be.”

“Seems like yesterday he was one too.” Harry said unhappily, watching as a young mother and daughter leave the pet shop with a large toad.

 _This was a bad idea_. Riddle thought to himself, _If only Tom had left already._

The two sat in silence, Riddle stretching his long legs, and Harry's wings losing a feather or two in the summer breeze. They watched the passerbys, families and friends meeting each other in the alleyway and exchanging hearty hellos with other students.

“He's not leaving until the first.” Riddle said, breaking the silence, “That's still two days from now.”

“Where is he going?” Harry asked, “Where is he being sent?”

Riddle winced at the question. “Well, I promised him I wouldn't tell.”

Harry looked at Riddle then, and Riddle met his gaze. He was perturbed to see what looked like tear trails down Harry's face. Riddle coughed, scooting himself closer to the winged man. When Harry refocused on the crowds below did Riddle take his hand. He heard a small sniff, and to that did Riddle's defenses crumble.

“It's Romania, Harry.” Riddle said, squeezing the other's hand. “Harmless. Well, mostly harmless. The exception being some vampires and the occasional rampant dragon, but otherwise he will be fine.”

Harry's hand unclasped from Riddle's to wipe at his face. “I wish he wouldn’t go with things being the way they are. I want to talk to him.”

“Tom's a stubborn git.” Riddle said. “You know that. I know that. He'll get over it eventually.”

“Perhaps we should just stop this now.” Harry said moodily. “Our relationship is destroying him.”

Riddle scowled then. “Don't start that up again, Potter. You know as well as I do how well that will work out.”

“Maybe it could work.” Harry said miserably. “We can try.”

“He's already aware we are back together, so there is no sense trying to hide under lies.” Riddle stood up from the house, looking down to his seated companion and extending a hand out for him to grasp. “I'll try to talk to him again tonight, but-”

“No promises.” Harry finished sadly, placing his hand in Riddle's own. The man pulled Harry up to his feet, and the two stood on the rooftop, overlooking the busy alleyway.  Harry unfolded his wings, extending a pale hand to Riddle.

“Let's find him,” Harry implored. “Together. Maybe we could make him see.”

Riddle found himself being in the advisory position yet again, which perturbed him more than it should. “Look Potter, Tom's made his views, and we made ours. Let him come to you. Pushing him into it will only make him turn away.”

Harry stared off for a long time, silent. As Riddle opened his mouth to break the awkward silence, the man interceded with defeated acceptance.

“I wish you weren't right,” Harry finalized, black wings extending out to their full span on the rooftop.  Wordlessly, he turned away from Tom Riddle and walked the length of the roof. He stopped at the point where he would be out of sight from the passerby below. He did not look back.

“Neither do I.” Riddle commented. Instead of following Harry, he walked down the opposite length of the roof, preparing to simply levitate himself down. For him, it would lead into the bustle of Diagon Alley below. Riddle only briefly turned to watch Harry leap into the air, rising with powerful wingbeats into the clouds above. Potter soared above the rooftops, black wings propelling him quickly upwards and away from the shops below.

“Neither did I.” Tom Riddle repeated, watching Harry's form become smaller in the sky until it disappeared behind the white cumulonimbus clouds.  After another moments’ pause, the young wizard drew out his black journal from beneath his robes to give a bookmarked page a look.

“Now, what else was I to do today?” Riddle said to himself, eyeing the written script above. “Ah yes. Pay Ms. Hepzibah a visit.”

 

Contrary to what Tom Riddle believed, Harry had not truly abandoned him. The man had soared above the clouds to clear his thoughts but returned below to watch Riddle make his way through Diagon Alley. He had the slight hope that Riddle would be going to see Tom.

 _I must be discreet._ He thought to himself.  A man flying above Diagon Alley with wings could attract the wrong attention. With this in mind Harry focused, until his body became smaller and smaller, covering itself in black feathers. His eyes became larger, and more of a circular shape.

While he was not her snowy white, the black owl that now flapped in the sky had made himself in her resemblance in a nod to her memory. Hooting, the black owl dove down to the throng, flying above Riddle, who was making his way through the crowd to a nearby alleyway. Riddle only carelessly threw a look up at the sky, then turned to a dark alleyway.

 _He's going to Borgin and Burkes._ Harry identified, flying over Knockturn alley. A vulture that was poised on a rooftop overlooking Knockturn gave a low caw in his direction, and Harry resisted the instinct to distance himself from the ugly creature. Instead he perched by it, observing Riddle walk into the store.

Harry hopped lower down the roof, hearing only muffled conversation inside the shop. His owl eyes, bright neon green and black, squinted to see inside the store. Unfortunately, everything was blurred by the windows, so he could only make out body shapes in the glass. Only when he noticed Tom Riddle's shape make its way deeper into the store did he re-transform, wingless, dropping to the ground from the sky.

“You fell straight down, you did!” squawked a squat witch with a stick full of ears, pointing said stick accusingly at the man.

“You _are_ observant.” Harry said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. He then realized his mistake when the woman pointed towards his neon eyes, which were gleaming in the dark of the alley.

“Nosferatu!” she shrieked, dropping the ears. The woman hobbled further down the alleyway as to get away from him. Harry Potter shook his head, bemused. Digging into his robes, he drew out his round spectacles. Placing him on his nose, his eyes slid to their muted jade, sclera whitening.

With that accomplished, Potter made his way inside the shop. It was odd to be inside the place, since he had only visited the shop in the future. He remembered the first time, when he had erroneously left the Weasley home and discovered Malfoy-

“Can I help you?” a stiff voice inquired. Harry jerked back to the current situation, observing an elder man giving him an appraising look from behind the counter. Harry felt he was not impressing the man whatsoever. The man had a pin on his robes labeled as _Mr. Burke._

“Excuse me,” Harry said, feeling an irritation, “I was looking to make a purchase on behalf of your seller, Tom Riddle. Might he be of service?”

“He's meeting with a client. He won't be back until the evening.”

“Might I ask the client?”

“Confidential.” Burke said.

“Ah.” Harry said, “Now that is a problem.”

“I've never seen you down here,” Burke interjected, “Nor do you look to be of money either. What do you _really_ want with Mr. Riddle?”

“Appearances can be deceiving,” Harry continued, unperturbed, “As I'm sure you are well acquainted with that notion in running this shop.” The man glanced to the counter behind the shopkeeper, “Especially in dealing with, how do we say, the _illicit_ trade of dark arts goods.”

Burke scowled. “You have no proof of that.”

Harry crossed his arms, “I am sure if I spent enough time here, I would.” His green eyes alighted on a particular piece, and a coldness ran through him. “For example, that cursed necklace. I wonder if I mentioned to the Ministry what Dark powers lay dormant-”

“Alright, you've made your bloody point,” Burke growled, standing in front of the display as if to block it from Harry's view- “I'm assuming you are a fellow student of Mr. Riddle.”

“You could say that.” Harry shrugged, not particularly caring what Burke thought his relationship with Tom Riddle might be, “I want to see him. Where did he go?”

“He's in the back. He's on his way to meet Hepzibah Smith.”

 _It can't be._ Would the current Tom Marvolo Riddle undertake the creation of Horcruxes? Harry's nostrils flared at the thought. “Excuse me Mr. Burke.” Harry stalked past the counter to the back room, Mr.Burke hot-footing behind him, complaining as he went:

“You going back in my bloody shop?”

Harry shut the backroom door behind him and locked it shut, to Burke's loud protests. He walked over the open fireplace, wisps of green flame that could only mean Floo powder.

The man approached the flames, staring into them with dread. It appeared that Tom Riddle had already departed, which meant he would have to stop him as quickly as possible. His wings reappeared behind him, and Harry prepared himself to transport, envisioning Hepzibah's mansion. He was then interrupted by a sudden, strong grip holding him by his upper arm.

“You make a painfully obvious owl.” came a sarcastic voice from behind. Harry wheeled around in surprise, seeing Tom Riddle grasping his arm. Grey eyes bored into his own jade, an eyebrow quirked over the eyes.

“You are after the locket, are you not?” Harry said, staring into Riddle's eyes. “You would do this again, even after I warned you about your future as the Dark Lord?”

“You never told me about a locket,” Riddle said dismissively, letting Harry's bicep free. “It is mine. What does that have anything to do with being a Dark Lord?”

Harry shook his head, “Look you... _future_ you used that locket and others as a conduit for the dark arts. You killed Hepzibah Smith for it.”

Riddle's eyes widened a fraction, but he crossed his arms, sizing Harry up. “Potter, I'm about to spoil something for you- I plan to steal it. No murder involved.”

“You can't steal it.” Harry said crossly.

“You sound like Tom,” Riddle said, “He said the very same. You two sure you aren't related?”

“I will stop you.” Harry pressed, now standing in front of Riddle with his large wings extended, “Do not put me in this position.”

“Put you in this position? Get out of here Potter, you try my patience.” Riddle made to side-step Harry, but the large appendages blocked his pathway. “Did I mention I hate your crow wings?”

“You don't.” Harry replied.

Riddle scowled, “Fine, Potter. Now get out of my way-”

A pounding at the door, and a cursing voice interrupted them, “Riddle! Unlock this door and dismiss your guest from the premises. Immediately!”

Harry stood steadfast in front of the fireplace, “What are you going to do, Riddle? Follow your dark path, your employer, or me?”

“I suppose I will resort to the only thing that will get you to move,” Riddle said then, stepping forward intimidatingly. Harry stared up at him defiantly, a hair’s breadth away from their faces touching, “If you think for the last minute I will let you-

Riddle dipped down, kissing the other man, arms encircling Harry's back. The wings drew down as Riddle's arms pushed down the feathered appendages. “Mmf!” said Harry, struggling against the force holding his wings down. Tom Riddle smirked and prepared himself to move around, but Harry reciprocated by grabbing at Riddle's collar and keeping him locked into the kiss.

The two remained that way for several moments, kissing each other out of sheer stubbornness, eventually dwindling into mutual reciprocation. They would have continued to do so unbidden had Mr. Burke not finally forced the door open, entering the room with a loud string of curses and swears.

 

“My last pay cheque from Borgin and Burkes came today.” Riddle said, sitting in Harry's kitchen and holding up an opened parchment. “I hope you're happy I lost my job.”

“Not really.” Harry replied, bringing over a bubbling tea kettle, setting the kettle down in the centre of the table. “Why do you bring it up now? You've been jobless how long?”

“Three weeks.” Riddle said with a scowl, “Luckily I have connections.”

“Good ones?” Harry said with a quirked eyebrow. “Who foot your bills?”

“Depends on who you ask.” Riddle fished out a card from his pocket, showing a moving picture of a dragon on the front and scribbled ink on the opposite side. “But that's not why I dropped by. I wanted to show you something. From Romania.”

Harry's eyes lit up at the post card, saying in breathless delight, “Tom.”

Riddle felt a tinge of jealousy, but continued on despite his own personal feelings, “It came by owl yesterday. He's been acquiring more goods for Borgin and Burkes.”

“I hope he's happy.” Harry said quietly. He sat down at the table, eyes still raking over the script on the postcard. He then poured himself a cup of tea, followed by filling Riddle's own cup. The two sat in a brief pause, both drinking their heated beverages quietly until Harry spoke again.

“What do you plan to do, now that you are officially jobless.” he said.

Riddle shrugged. “Several of my schoolmates have entry jobs at the Ministry. Not to be an Auror, mind you-” Riddle said, watching Harry's eyes gleam in that moment, “Just desk work for now.”

“I do not think Tom would take it well if you also tried to be an Auror,” Harry conceded, “But desk work could be suitable, given your talents. What branch of the Ministry do you plan to work in?”

“Nott works in Public Information Services.” Riddle said, “I have an interview this week with the head of the department.”

“You will do well.” Harry said, lifting his tea mug up to his mouth, “You have the talent of leadership.”

Riddle nodded. He clasped his hands together around his tea mug. The two sat in companionable silence, until Riddle spoke again, “I meant to ask you, Harry Potter- what will you do now?”

Harry blinked, his hands halfway bringing his cup upwards to his pale lips, “What will I do now?”

Riddle tapped his long fingers together on the ceramic of the tea mug. “Well, you successfully 'vanquished' the impending Dark Lord, considering I am not the same man who terrorized your time. What will you do? You are free now to go as you please. There is nothing to keep you here.”

The winged man paused in mid-sip of his tea, as if the thought had not crossed his mind. He then setting the tea mug down on the table. “I will remain here,” Harry said finally, eyes fixated on the steam rising above the green ceramic mug. “There is no guarantee our timeline will remain unscathed. There could be repercussions for changing history. And if there is any chance Tom will return, I will keep this as my residence for him.”

“Perhaps you could be an Auror,” Riddle said, thoughtfully. “With your talents and otherworldly skills, you could intercept any evil-doer that rises to power. Might as well give it a look.”

Harry shook his head, pushing his tea mug aside. “In another life, I would have done so." He whisked his fingers above his eyebrows, "But I am still hesitant to declare victory-" He took a pale finger to his forehead, tracing the lightning bolt scar until he had reached his eyebrow. Taking his finger down, Harry continued: “-Because my scar remains, I believe our future still is uncertain.”

“It could still happen? The world you are from?” Riddle asked skeptically. 

“There is a possibility. My scar should have faded. But it has not done so... and I will not take the risk of being proven wrong. I have been wrong in judgment before, when it comes to people.” Harry glanced off, a look of melancholy on his face. He did not meet Tom Riddle's gaze

Riddle stood from the table, taking his tea mug to the sink and lowering it into the basin. His shoulders locked forward in irritation at Harry's unspoken implication.

_Some part of him still believes I will become the Dark Lord._

The man began to aggressively wash the inside his mug for a few quiet minutes when Harry interrupted his task.

“Do you think he will return soon?”

Riddle didn't have to ask who. He dropped his shoulders, leaving the attacked mug at the bottom of the sink. “Tom will come back, Harry. Give or take he'll be there a few months abroad, and then he will come back.”

Tom Riddle heard Harry rise from the table, until he was parallel to where Riddle was standing over the sink. Harry placed his own mug alongside Riddle's, their shoulders brushing each other. Despite his knowledge that Harry did not breathe, nor perform most bodily functions, the utter stillness of his body still captivated Riddle as they stood together.

“When he returns...could you let him know that I am sorry to have caused him such pain. It bothers me to think we’re not talking..." Harry trailed off, looking to Riddle standing alongside him.

“He won't be gone long, he'll get homesick.” Riddle finalized. He hung his scoured tea mug up above the kitchen sink, turning his attention to the other mug lying at the bottom and giving it a hefty scrub- “He's a homebody.”

“You are sure?”

Riddle shrugged, hanging the next mug alongside its partner. “He'll be angry and get over it eventually. He's gotten over disappointments before.” Riddle turned his back to the kitchen, enveloping his hand with Harry's to gently lead him upstairs.

 Later that evening, as Riddle stared into Harry's neon and black eyes in the bed, he could still sense the worry within Harry's mind. Riddle tried his best at consoling him, stroking a black wing outstretched on the bed.

“Don't worry about it, Harry Potter. He'll come back.”

“Soon?” Harry said, sadness in his voice.

“Soon.” Riddle agreed. “Sooner than you think.”

 

** Sources: **

_The world after 1945:_

<https://www.ushmm.org/wlc/en/article.php?ModuleId=10005506>

_Tom Riddle time line_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Tom_Riddle>

_Slytherin's Locket:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Slytherin%27s_Locket>

_Ministry of Magic:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/British_Ministry_of_Magic>


	18. Chapter 18

_Moscow, 1966._

 

Snow fell in fat flakes around the immensity that was the Red Square, in the heart of Moscow. Few passerbys were out and about for the approach of the New Year, the bitter chill of winter keeping most of the Soviet Union's populace inside their quarters. The same could not be said for the tall man walking through the square, a black shadow underneath the few lampposts.

A heavy trench coat to fend off the cold and a scarlet and gold scarf around his throat, the man paced towards the center of the Red square. He observed the building which housed the body of Lenin across the way, a dark column rising out of the darkness. Wondering if he would be allowed to pay his respects, he walked up to the door. Chains were linked around the door's handles, and a cough from nearby saw a guard shaking his head, forbidding entry.

_Well, not tonight I suppose._

Tom Potter turned away from Lenin's tomb, and found himself face to face with a short man with dark eyebrows, a dark beard, and a roundness to him that gave him the look of a Slavic Santa Claus.

" Добрый вечер товарищ!" he addressed Tom in Russian, grabbing his shoulder companionably.

Tom gave him a curt nod, replying back, "Для Народного социалистического движения." "For the People's Socialist movement."

"A foreigner?" Your Russian's pretty good, but you have a strong accent." the man weaved on his feet, smelling strongly of hard liquor. Tom wondered where he had come from, given the time of evening it was. On closer inspection he could see the man clutched a half-emptied bottle of vodka, the container branded in red lettered Cyrillic.

"I have been studying very hard." Potter replied at last, tilting his head in acknowledgement of the compliment.

"For the great premier Lenin...for Stalin...and Khrushchev." muttered the man, seeming to have forgotten the context of their conversation. He gave the air a toast and took another a swig of vodka. He burped ungraciously, then sauntered off into the snowy night, leaving Tom alone once again. Tom Potter dug his hands into his pockets, feeling for his wand. It brought him comfort to roll it in his fingers.

He had spent the last ten years traveling within the Soviet Union, studying Russian and observing politics and people from the group of nations that constituted the USSR. He still occasionally sent magical goods back to his employer, but as of late, he had invested most of his time in the Communist realm doing odd jobs. The more layers he had peeled back in his travels, the more he had found to appeal to him.

 _A collectivist thought_. He mused.  _Working as a whole for the betterment of everyone._ The system wasn't without its flaws, however.

As he stared from his place in the Red Square at the cathedral of St. Basil's, the snow drifting around him, the nearby bell chimed with the stroke of midnight, marking the new year.

"Happy birthday, Tom." he muttered to himself. He wasn't sure who he was wishing it for.

 

“Новые правила Министерства Магии." the headline declared.

“UK Ministry of Magic's new regulations.” Tom Potter tasted the words on his tongue, eyes narrowing into slits as he glanced over the paper to ensure no one's eavesdropping. He was sitting in a small cafe on the edge of the city center and was reading the top story from the Russian equivalent of the Daily Prophet.

“Muggleborns in the United Kingdom set to be registered and documented by decree of the Ministry,” he continued to read, disgust tingeing his voice, “And to be discussed whether or not they deserve the rights of pure-bloods.”

Tom stopped reading as a well-dressed woman came over to him, folding the paper down to the table, “Can I help you?” he started, long fingers pinning the paper's face to the table.

“Are you English?” the woman asked in a demanding tone, “I am hearing you speak in English.”

“You heard me speak English,” Tom replied, correcting her translation “Я могу говорить по-русски” he added, waiting for her reaction at his ability to speak Russian.

The woman frowned at Tom, giving him a scrutinizing look. “If I wanted to speak Russian I would have done so,” she said to him. When he did not respond, she continued, “I am looking for an English tutor for my son. Are you looking for work?”

“No. I am employed as an exporter of trade goods,” Tom said coolly, not wishing to discuss his real employment status, "I am not a teacher."

The woman crossed her arms imperiously over her immense fur jacket at Tom's refusal, while he placated her, “I wish you luck in your search to find an instructor for your son.”

“My husband is a senior Official in the Red Army,” she said haughtily. When that did not phase Tom, she added, “And to my knowledge, you must have the correct papers to be in the Soviet Union. Do you have these?“

Tom rolled his eyes at this attempt at blackmail, but procured the documents for the woman's inspection from underneath his jacket. “Are these correct?” he asked, lifting an eyebrow in mock-disbelief. She read them over and handed them back to Tom Potter.

“Expired two months ago,” she said in a flat tone. Tom inwardly cursed at his failure of remembering to magically modify his papers. She gave a whistle, tapping the back of the documents held in Tom's hands. “You could be arrested.” she said primly.

“I do not think that is why you are telling me that,” Tom said wearily, sensing his impending defeat.

“ No,”she said giving him a once-over, "учитель.”

 

"You will live in this spare room,” the woman said to Tom, showing him the guest room as they departed from the kitchen.

He was currently in the heart of Moscow, in the luxurious home of the Petrov family. After having his papers renewed at a nearby police station, (with a hefty bribe from his new employer, Mrs. Katarina Petrov) Tom Potter was making the rounds with the matriarch of the home. He noted that the living space was quite atypical from the common people's apartments he had seen elsewhere in his travels.

“And my son, Vladimir.” She gestured to a picture fixed on a wall, the image a black and white copy of a youth. Tom walked over to it, noting a boy about the age of nine, blonde hair with a sullen expression on his face.

“He looks like his father,” Mrs. Petrov added, walking to stand parallel to Tom Potter. “Me and my son rarely see my husband. Too much work for him, but we rely on his position for our quality of life.”

“Your English is quite good, Mrs. Petrov,” interjected Tom, having long since surmised this woman's intelligence comparable to his own, “May I ask where you studied?”

“In New York, when I was younger, with my father,” she said briskly, “He was a businessman in oil. My family did quite well before the embargo.”

“And do you do well still?”

“Well, I married my husband. My brother inherited the oil business.” Mrs. Petrov concluded, “But less about me. What brings an Englishman to Moscow?”

“Power, Packages, and Politics, Mrs. Petrov.” Tom said, “All in the name of my own personal research. I believe there is a lot western countries could stand to learn from Communism.”

“You would enjoy talking with my husband then,” she said. “I am not one for politics. A shame Petyr will not be home for a few weeks. But you can speak with him on the subject when he arrives. As for now, Vladimir's lessons will begin tomorrow. Supper will be in a few hours.”

“ _Spasibo,_ _”_  replied Tom. Mrs. Petrov gave a half wave of dismissal, and walked back into the kitchen area, leaving Tom Potter alone to brood in his thoughts.

The irony of becoming an instructor was not lost on Tom.  _Teach with me at Hogwarts._..the memory floated by, which left Tom with a slight scowl on his face.

He had stopped writing to Riddle several years ago as he had learned the man had pursued a higher career in the Ministry. Jealousy, tinged with the knowledge Riddle still had intimate relations with his guardian, had caused a rift. Tom Riddle was unaware of where he was currently, as the last letter Tom Potter sent had come from the Ukraine.

A day might come he could forget Riddle's transgressions, but the increasing slant of the Ministry against Muggleborns had also plagued Tom's thoughts. Recalling Riddle's and his followers views' in their Hogwarts days, Tom had a suspicion these new regulations were linked.

 _I'd be content to remain here, if only to be out of the mess that I came from._ It seemed easier a position to be in than confronting his tumultuous past.

 

“Apple.” the boy said dutifully.

“Apple, Orange, Banana.” came his tutor's reply.

Tom was sitting in the kitchen area, holding up various fruits to his student, Vladimir Petrov. It was only the two of them at the home, which was common. Mrs. Petrov utilized his services as 'tutor' consistent with 'house sitter.' Despite this role, over the past few weeks the boy had proven a quick study, and Tom felt a sense of accomplishment in his progression.

“I like to eat fruit.” Tom said.

“I like fruit.” came the reply.

“Fair enough,” said Tom.

Vladimir grabbed for the apple, and began to eat as Tom rose to fetch them both water. After the man had re-seated himself with the pitcher of water and poured for the two of them, the boy began to speak.

“Мой отец приходит сегодня вечером,” Vladimir said, “My father comes tonight.”

“ּּМы должны говорить по-английски," said Tom, “We are supposed to be speaking in English.”

Vladimir rolled his eyes. Despite his employer's demands, the boy preferred his native tongue, and Tom found himself often re-directing their conversations back to English. This did not always work, as Vladimir was prone to adolescent mood swings.

"What is your father like?" Tom asked curiously, continuing the topic in his native tongue.

"He is going to be angry about you, учитель " said Vladimir, sipping his own water. The boy replaced the glass of water on the tabletop, as small air bubbles floated to the top of the liquid.

"Now why would you say that?" Tom replied, feeling anticipation coming on, "I would imagine your father would be supportive of furthering your education."

"You are a foreigner living in our home. And мама likes you."

"I am not sure if your mother genuinely likes me or likes having help in the house."

Vladimir continued his thoughts unperturbed, ticking off his smaller fingers, "You help get groceries, clean the house, and put our clothes out to clean. You would never see отец doing this."

"Your father is a busy man," Tom deflected, "I would not expect him to do those things."

"But you do." Vladimir pushed.

"I am different than your father," Tom replied. "And I am being paid by your mother."

"У нас должна быть русская домработница, а не учитель английского "We should have a Russian housekeeper, not an English teacher," said Vladimir with a final sniff, jumping off from his chair. He walked away into his own room, without so much as a good-bye to the older man still at the table.

Tom sighed. He supposed he ought to be offended at Vlad's rudeness, but he was used to the boy's mood-swings. He looked over to the clock hung over the kitchen sink, to see how long it would be until the senior Petrov would return to the home.

17:07.

 _Two hours...._ Tom thought to himself.  _And I get to spend them sitting at a table, alone waiting for a man who's likely to take offense to my very presence._ His wandering thoughts were interrupted as Mrs. Petrov burst into the door, two loaves of bread under one arm, a bag of groceries under the other.

" учитель, help me with this." she said, as Tom rose from his chair to take the bags. "It is not much, but it will serve as a fine meal for us tonight. Now we cook."

Tom made his way over to the stovetop, unloading the groceries on the counter nearby. He drew out some tomatoes, sour cream, and red cabbage.  _The makings of goulash_ , he thought to himself. A cookbook laid nearby, and Tom reached for it. Instructions in Cyrillic detailed the preparation of the Russian dish with an accompanying picture, a small cartoon drawing with a spoon. He ignited the stove and drew forth a large pot from beneath the nearby sink, setting it to heat.

 _How much easier life would be to use magic...._  he thought to himself, tying about his neck a kitchen apron. On his own terms he would have drawn forth his wand and let the meal prepare itself. Here he was stuck using Muggle techniques due to imposed secrecy statutes. But the niggling thought in his mind developed as he began to mix the ingredients.

_This home has no magic because they're Muggles and kept ignorant of their magical brethren. Why is it that old wizard prejudices exist today against our fellows? Those limits were made hundreds of years ago by fearful men. There is simply no reason we cannot share this power today if done correctly._

" жена ּ!" came a deep voice from behind. Tom shoulders stiffened in surprise as he whirled around to see a taller version of Vladimir standing in the kitchen in a Russian military uniform. The man was dressed in pressed clothes with many ribbons and medals. Tom saw the rank bar of Captain emblazoned on his uniform as his gaze went upwards. The senior Petrov had a fine blonde mustache above his upper lip. Tom also did not fail to notice the pistol clipped to this thin man's side.

" муж!" exclaimed Katarina Petrov, leaving Tom's side to embrace the man, thought she did not receive an embrace in return. The senior Petrov stood stiffly in the kitchen, and sent a scowl by Tom's way, leaving the wizard wary at the frosty reception. It would seem that the father shared his son's suspicious nature.

 "Кто это мужчина" said the man, Petyr Petrov. "Who is this man?"

“He is our son’s tutor, Любимый." The woman leaned up to press a kiss to her husband's cheek, "His name is Tom Potter. He is from England."

"A pleasure to meet you sir," Tom said respectively, extending a hand out politely as if to shake the other man's hand. Petrov only raised an eyebrow, and crossed his arms while doing so, as if to avoid skin contact. His light blue eyes that stared into the wizard's own made Tom feel akin to be inspected by a zookeeper or animal herder.

 _Next he'll check my teeth._ Tom thought deprecatingly. He felt like baring his teeth in humour, but he did not want to antagonize the suspicious man.

"We shall talk more on this, Katarina," Petyr said, now staring back at his wife. "Teacher, go to our son for his lessons. My wife will cook the dinner."

"Yes, sir." Tom said dutifully, taking off his apron and hanging it on the nearby wall. Tom walked past the two, feeling the tension in the air akin to feeling a frost coming on. He could feel the eyes of the couple staring at his back as he left the room, and only began to hear the sound of their arguing as he approached his student's door.

 

The four of them had goulash and boiled beets for the meal that night. Tom had hoped to miss the awkward dinner by feigning illness, but Mrs. Petrov had insisted he sit at the table. Everyone ate in silence, the only sounds the clinking of the silverware, or the ladle for the soup.

"Thank you," Tom said out loud, breaking the silence after he had finished his meal. All three family members stared at him. "For the dinner." he clarified, looking to mother and son. Vladimir gave him an insufferable look, while Mrs. Petrov gave him a slow nod of the head. Tom noticed there was a dark bruise on the inside of her arm, and his stomach lurched. He dare not look at Petyr, or else the man might see two parts fear and anger at the sign of abuse.

"What are you doing in the Soviet Union?" asked Petyr, blunt and straight-forward. "Surely you were not here to serve as a tutor."

"I am....was, working for a domestic employer in Great Britain," Tom said, not meeting his gaze, "I purchased and exported goods on my shop's behalf."

"What kind of shop?"

Tom winced but manage to keep his composure: "Antiques."

"And you wish to export valuable Russian artifacts to Great Britain." said Petrov scornfully, tapping his fingers to the checkered table, "Those are pieces that belong to the people, not to the bourgeoisie."

"I have not had any sales from Russia," Tom said quickly, "Only from Ukraine and Belarus."

"The Soviet Union," corrected Petrov, "We are countries united by a common background and ideals and are addressed as such."

"My mistake," Tom replied, without missing a beat, "I have been to many countries on my business travels, and I remember them by their individual names."

"But still you are taking away goods that belong to the people. I do not like this, teacher. You will not send any more. Is that understood?"

"да" Tom said, finding no reason to disagree as he returned to his goulash. The family continued to eat in silence. After minutes passed, the senior Petrov abruptly rose from his chair, leaving half his meal untouched. He took off his belt and weapon, leaving them on a nearby countertop. He reached for a tin found inside the family kitchen cupboard.

Tom watched him exit the room with the small tin, and Katarina sighed from nearby. He turned to face her in his seat, dropping his spoon to his own plate. "Is he leaving?" he asked, feeling somewhat stupid for asking.

"нет, he is a smoker," she said quietly, rising to clean the dishes. "Smoking is a habit that he has not broken." Vladimir, like his father, vacated the room, briefly passing by the countertop. As he left, it was only Katarina and Tom in the kitchen. Tom finished the last of his goulash and began to collect the plates. He rose from the table, bringing them over to Katarina, who was hunched over the large sink.

Katarina dismissed Tom as he tried to help her clean. "My husband does not want you to do this, учитель "

"It is the least I can do-"

"Go outside with my husband. Take a cigarette. Perhaps then you can change his mind on letting you stay."

Tom blinked, somewhat blindsided by that revelation, "I thought I was to stay-"

" нет,..no, he has decided you are to leave this week. He does not like that there is another man in this house. My husband is a jealous man."

Tom eyed her arm again, feeling torn. While he had no love for Katarina, he felt somewhat responsible to her well-being. "If I can talk to him, will this stop?" He gestured to her arm, his long fingers close to touching the purple bruise.

Katarina shook her head, moving her arm away. "Do not mention it. You will do me no good. Go now, and take his cigarette. Talk politics if it suits you."

Tom particularly did not want to have a conversation with a man who beat his wife, but Katarina shooed him from the kitchen until he was left in the hallway, alone. He could see the door leading outside partially open and could smell the smoke of a burning cigarette. He walked towards the door, pushing it open to the cold night air.

The man stood stiffly, a fag in his mouth. Tom walked towards him, until the other man's attention was caught.

" Чего ты хочешь, what do you want?" asked Petrov, blowing a puff of smoke into the coldness.

Tom didn't budge, despite his instinct to space himself from the smoke. "I was to request a cigarette myself, but I would not want to waste a good Marbolo."

Petrov's shoulders hunched defensively, as he faced straight on to stare Tom in the eye, the offending cigarette hanging precariously from his mouth. "This is not Marbolo. There is no importation of American goods."

Tom wasn't going to press the obvious lie. "I wanted to speak with you. Katarina said you were a politically minded man. I find in communism certain concepts that I wanted to understand better, so I came to Moscow."

"You are a учитель, were you not educated?" Petyr gave him a scrutinizing look, "It is a system that works for the people, by the people. Each to his own skill and talents to better our Union."

"Yes, but in practice, does it require much emphasis on a collective government?" he asked, eagerly, "Or is it better run by individual leadership?"

"No one man can do such a thing," Petrov said dismissively to his last statement. Tom continued, undeterred:

"Even with such premiers as Lenin and Stalin? Arguably the most famous to western ideals being attributed to Karl Marx, naturally, as the founder of the movement-"

Petrov interrupted, his arms crossing over his many medaled chest, "I am a military man , учитель I do not, nor ever have, cared for politics. I obey the orders of my superiors, who make decisions based on the party's choices. We as a Union have been successful thus far, despite the constant threats coming from capitalist countries such as yours."

Tom felt embarrassment heat his face, considering what Katarina had said earlier about her husband's interest in politics. Apparently, it was not true.

 _It's like this family barely knows each other._ He opened his mouth to ask another question of the man, but a snap noise from inside the house had him jump in surprise. Tom looked back to the door.

"That was a gun," Petrov said, sidling past Tom to stalk into the home, "Katarina!" he barked, Tom following the man inside, trailing his heels.

"Petyr!" cried from within the home.

The two men entered into the living room. Katarina was on the floor, cradling her young son in her arms. There was blood seeping through the boy's cheek, and nearby, the silver of the fallen weapon.

"The pistol, he..." the woman was weeping, as her son's eyes blinked wildly. "He took it and-"

The senior Petrov knelt down to their level, and moved his hands to cup his son's face. A dark look was on his own. "You should have sent the boy to his room, woman." he said in a derogatory manor. "This is your doing."

Tom felt anger at this obvious denial of responsibility, but for all their sakes he did not have the luxury of wasting time on who was to be blamed. "I can help, one moment- " he ran to his room, kneeling down so that he could dig through his large suitcase to find his wand. Mrs. Petrov was still weeping when he returned, rocking back and forth on her knees as she held the boy.

"Move back," he warned the two Muggles, wand outstretched in his hands. Petyr scowled from his place next to his wife, the woman letting out a loud moan of distress.

"He is dead!" she cried, meeting Tom's gaze wildly.

Tom shook his head frantically, waving his wand emphatically, "I can save him, I just need you to let go of him for the briefest moment-"

Katarina screamed then in anguish, as if in terror at the very thought of letting the boy go. But her husband, Petrov, reached down and viciously yanked his wife away by the roots of her hair.

Vladimir flopped to the carpeted ground, bleeding profusely into the beige rug from the gunshot wound in his cheek. "Save him, then, teacher," the boy's father said caustically, "I am sure with a stick you are capable of raising the dead."

Tom barely noted the anger being directed at him but pointed the wand into the boy's cheek. He squinted his eyes.

" _Accio bullet."_

A squelching noise was heard, and the gaping wound spat out the small, silver bullet that had been lodged inside. Tom caught and dropped it to the floor, only briefly registering the gasps of surprise from the distraught parents.

 _"Episkey."_  He commanded, pressing the wand into the mass of blood. Another squelch, and the skin knit itself together, until only dried blood remained on the boy's cheek.

Petyr stood stock-still, a look of disbelief on his normally unperturbed face. This caused him to let go of his wife, who immediately dropped to the ground, kissing the unconscious boy's forehead and murmuring quiet promises of love and devotion to her child.

"What was that?" Petrov asked, still unmoving from his place behind his wife and son.

"Doing the right thing," Tom said, feeling a calmness rush through him. He wondered how many statues of magical law he had broken...and yet, he did not care.

_This is the kind of world I wish for._

"These abilities..." Petyr said quietly, kneeling down to the ground next to wife and son, "You have always had them?"

"Yes...." Tom said as he rose to his feet, staring down at the three, wand extended: "By Magical law I should obliviate you all immediately." Katarina shook violently from where she cradled her son on the floor, using her body as a shield to protect him. "You shall not do anything to him!"

Tom Potter sighed at this display of fear, lowering his wand arm slowly. "I agree. I see no reason to do so, Mrs. Petrov. I came to this country to begat change. This starts now, here, with you all. I will not change your memories."

"This does change things," Petrov agreed, rising to his feet. "But let us not start so hastily,  _comrade_  Potter. For I have questions for you. You shall tell me who and what you truly are." The military man held out the previously discarded pistol, and locked the weapon's hammer back with a  _click_ , pointing it towards Tom- "And then we shall see where fate leads you."

 

_Sources:_

USSR:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Soviet_Union

Russian Text by Google Translate:(Apologies on any fluency discrepancies)

https://translate.google.com/

St Basil's:

http://travelhdwallpapers.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/02/Saint-Basils-Cathedral-16.jpg


	19. Chapter 19

_Fwap._

_Fwap._

_Fwap._

Tom Potter lied outstretched on a grey bunk, within a room of a house designated as a ‘holding cell.’ Out of boredom, he was tossing his dagger, the gift given to him by Tom Riddle years ago. In the hypothetical event that his wand was jeopardized, it brought him a sense of security. Fortunately, in his travels, it had never come to that. But today, it was to amuse himself. Holstered in the scabbard, it was now a means to pass the time.

By tossing it in the air.

_Fwap._

_Fwap._

_Fwap._

Tom’s reflexes were sharp, and so he did not drop the blade. Had it been unsheathed; the venom inside would quickly grant him pain, then eventual poisoned death. But as he was ever so cautious, it remained covered in its golden scabbard; gemstones and snakes gleaming in the afternoon sun.

_Fwap._

Tom had spent the past week in this compound hosted by KGB agents as a 'honoured guest.' Needless to say, he was antsy from his time spent in a guarded room watched by the mistrustful eyes of the Soviets. Tom had refrained from doing much else in his time in captivity, save biding his time. Alone in his room for a week had given him much reflection and thought to his situation.

_Everything happens for a reason,_ he thought to himself. He had not achieved greatness by any means; living life, skirting the edges as a mere traveling salesman. But that ended here. No longer was he content to wait on the sidelines, watching the achievements of lesser men. The wizard was determined to cement his partnership with the men that ran the Soviet political machine and was willing at any cost a chance to make his aspirations come true.

_I was meant for more._

He had kept his wand and dagger. Without using too much magic, he had ‘persuaded’ his KGB guards to allow him that leniency.

Now, it was a matter of a different persuasion.

 

The men were all sitting in a board room when Tom Potter was escorted in.

_I must show them. I must make them understand. This is bigger than me, than them. Only together can we make a future that benefits both our worlds._

"Ah yes, this is Mr. Potter." His escort, a KGB translator began their introduction, as the two men entered into a large boardroom with large windows and a bigger desk. "Mr. Potter, the First Deputy, the Deputy Chairmen, and the members of the USSR Council of Ministers."

‘Я могу говорить по-русски," he spoke back fluently, easily commanding the tongue he had used these past ten years, "I do not require an interpreter."

A pleased murmur came from the boardroom.

"Excellent, Mr. Potter." The translator escorted himself from the room.

"We are understanding you are from Great Britain." said a sallow skinned man sitting closest to him.

"да."

"And you worked in a special unit there?"

"I did."

"Is this MI5?" said a dark-haired man closer to the first deputy.

Tom scowled. "No, it is not MI5." The dark-haired man gave him an appraising look.

"What was the department's name?

"Ministry of Magic."

Another murmur through the boardroom. The first deputy held up a hand, and the room fell silent.

The first deputy spoke, "Mr. Potter, we invited you here based on the information you promised to provide us in regards to Great Britain."

"You invited me because I confounded your agents." Tom drew his holly wand out to display to the room.

"A stick?" replied a heavy-set man.

"This is a wand." He twirled it between his long fingers.

Now there was laughing.

"He is as they say, a magician!" snorted the heavy man. "We are wasting our time. Go back home, Mr. Potter, this the Presidium, not a magic show."

"I suppose you require a demonstration." Tom said lowly.

The man laughed. "Will you make a rabbit appear in your coat?"

_"CRUCIO!"_

The heavy man shrieked and fell down to the table, slapping his wide arms out akin to a flopping fish. Screams echoed in the room.

The boardroom fell silent.

"Enough of this." the first deputy said, horror lingering in his eyes.

Tom dropped his wand, and the heavy man laid half-bent on the table, gasping for breath.

"How did you do this?" said the sallow skinned man.

‘Я был бы рад показать вам גאל." Tom replied. "I would be happy to show you."

 

"политический руководитель,” he was addressed, " _Zampolit_."

Tom nodded to the officer as he passed, taking his place nearby the dais overlooking the Red Square. It was a sunny day, and perfect weather for a military parade.

Tom had been quickly integrated into the Soviet political machine. He had been given the rank of _commissar_ , a supervisory position responsible for ideology and organization.

_Thought police,_ he mused.

The Muggles were still hesitant around him, but he supposed that was the way of things. To earn their trust, he would have to show them how his magic benefited them.

_They respond to power._

The parade begun in earnest, large T-55 tanks leading hundreds of goose-stepping soldiers, rank in file. They began to chant a song that rose above their stomping feet, cadence whirling through the square.

"ֲВ путь,” murmured Tom, immediately identifying it by the lyrics.

A large flag displaying the hammer and sickle moved past, and Tom felt his eyes drawn to it, the symbol bright yellow, against a field of crimson.

_I will make the world a better place. This is only the beginning._

The banner moved past, the song echoing in his ears, giving him a sense of pride that he had not felt in many years.

 

He was walking to his quarters in the Soviet compound when the Aurors came.

" Я могу вам чем-нибудь помочь,” he addressed them, politely. "May I help you?"

Their leader, a man with violet eyes and pale silver hair, gave him a glare behind a particularly prominent nose. “Не принимай нас за дураков,” he addressed Tom coldly, "Do not take us for fools."

"Russian aurors." Tom addressed them. "I have been in this country for near ten years and I have never seen you."

"We have seen what you are doing, Tom Potter, and we are here to put an end to it."

Tom scoffed. "What am I doing is your work. You should be helping your fellow patriots, but instead you hide in the shadows, preferring to maintain a secret society that only you enjoy membership to."

"Our ways are not your ways, Mr. Potter. We understand you are a disgruntled ex-Auror. Go back to your own country and find your purpose there. You are not welcome here."

"I am starting a revolution." Tom stood tall in the night, his military grade coat wrapped around his lean body. "I do not need nor require your help."

‘Не впечатляйтесь, мы вам не поможем " the Russian growled.

"You won't help?" Tom parroted back. "How unsurprising."

"You will come with us, Mr. Potter." spoke up an equivalently blonde, severe looking female.

"You will try."

 

Tom scowled behind his magic induced cuffs. Thankfully, they had not snapped his wand. Instead, the Russian Ministry were trying to talk to him.

_Outstanding._

"You studied at Hogwarts and were sorted into Gryffindor house?" the head auror spoke, tapping a pile of papers he had stacked on a table before him.

"How do you know this." Tom said tiredly.

"Like we said earlier, Mr. Potter, we have been watching you for some time." The man leaned back, violet eyes focusing on the pin on Tom's coat. "You are _Zampolit."_

"Correct."

"A British man given a Communist rank without any experience or prior validation. Now how peculiar is that." The man said in a derisive tone.

"We need to share with them our knowledge." Tom said, leaning forward. "There is a tide coming that neither you nor I can stop. It is better to ride the wave than to drown underneath."

"There are statues of secrecy worldwide, Mr. Potter. Do you believe hundreds of years of magical societies are about to crumble under one political ideology?" The man said in genuine curiosity.

"I believe change is necessary, Mr....?"

"Braginsky."

"Mr. Braginsky."

The man folded his large, pale hands together. "What you speak of is madness, Mr. Potter. We keep to ourselves for a reason. That is because if the Магл are exposed to our magic, they will overrun us all with their petty demands. We are best left to manage our own selves."

The man then scrutinized Tom's face.

"Do you have any family?"

"I have not spoken to them recently." said Tom coolly.

"You seem familiar. Like I have seen your face before. In the news."

"I get that a lot." Tom said quickly.

"I see." the man shuffled his papers. "Fortunately for you, we were able to modify the memories of those you exposed your spellwork to. It is if it never happened." The man now leaned forward, face becoming severe, "Do you understand what I am telling you?"

"You are letting me go." said Tom.

"If you were a Russian citizen, we would destroy your wand. As such, you are not subject to our own laws. You will be deported immediately to face judgment by your own Ministry."

"I understand."

 

Tom Potter was summarily deported at 9 AM the next day.

He was not reported in to the Ministry.

 

** Sources: **

_M15:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/MI5>

_The Presidium:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Presidium_of_the_Supreme_Soviet>

_Boardroom Scene: Inspired by Star Wars, a New Hope (1977)_

[http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zzs-OvfG8tE&t=0m10s](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zzs-OvfG8tE&t=0m10s)

_Collectivism:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Collectivism>

_Political commissar (Zampolit)_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Political_commissar>

_ֲ_ В путь _(Marching Cadence) 1954_

_<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1MWtENd_ERc> _

_Russian Auror Braginsky, sourced from Ivan Braginsky, Axis Powers Hetalia (Manga and Anime Series)_

<http://hetalia.wikia.com/wiki/Russia>

_Severe looking Female: sourced from Natalya Arlovskaya, Axis Powers Hetalia_

<http://hetalia.kitawiki.net/index.php?title=Belarus>

_"You will try." Star Wars, Revenge of the Sith, (2005)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pez_79eWSWw>

_Tom's interrogation: Inspired by the film, Fantastic Beats and Where to Find them (2016)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=opsFLT72FG0>


	20. Chapter 20

_London, 1970._

 

Tom Riddle, newly appointed Minister for Magic, bathed in the moment, as the crowd began to enthusiastically cheer him from his podium.

The nearby orchestra struck up the rendition of the 'Ministry March.' Riddle smiled again at that, the significance of the tune dawning on him.

A certain sense of pride? He allowed himself to feel it. Hard work and perseverance had paid off, despite life's obstacles being continuously thrown at him. As he exited the stage, all he could think of was how long this day had been coming...and how utterly satisfying it was.

“Minister Riddle! A photo!” cried a reporter for the _Daily Prophet._ Riddle paused for the briefest moment on the stairs leading from his podium, where he had just delivered his speech. A few snapshots later, and he was free to mingle.

Minister Riddle greeted his well-wishers as he walked through the sea of people who had swarmed to see their new Minister. After shaking the hands of a few dozen individuals, a few more photos, and the crowd finally milled about, leaving him in peace. 

Preparing for the second part of the evening, he observed. There would be food, wine, and dancing in his honour.

Speaking of honour... he noted Tom Potter had not bothered to show. Riddle understood he had been back in country for the past several weeks, only briefly meeting him at his home. He didn't talk much about his travels, preferring to inquire to Tom Riddle's successes in the ministry.

But Riddle wasn't fooled- he knew the reason of his absence was the bitterness the man still felt towards the Ministry as a whole. _One day he would come to terms with his failure as an auror candidate_ , Riddle mused. _But today was not that day._

"Ah, young Tom Riddle...er, I should say, Minister Riddle!"

His former professor, Horace Slughorn, was fast approaching him. Perspiration was breaking out on his brow, indicated Slughorn had moved quite quickly to accost him. "Whoo...." Slughorn breathed, "Monstrous walk across this room, monstrous!"

"Indeed." said Tom, unsure of what the correct response would be to this statement.

"But I would not miss this moment for the world, not I!" chortled Slughorn, giving Riddle a companionable slap on the shoulder. "I always knew you were going to be special, Mr. Riddle. I always knew."

"Mm-hm." said Riddle.

"I say, I did not see Albus." Slughorn commented, and looked back and forth, as if to summon the man. "I was certain he would be in attendance."

"He respectfully declined," said Tom coolly. The animosity between him and Dumbledore wasn't going to end today, either.

"Busy man, too dedicated to the cause, I suppose. Much like yourself, with what I'm hearing?" Slughorn waggled his eyebrows, indicating he very much wanted to be a part of whatever knowledge Tom had about the upcoming changes being implemented in the Ministry.

But that was not for his former instructor to know. "I'm sorry Professor... Ministry business, I am sure you understand?"

Slughorn gave a raucous laugh, and thumped Tom's shoulder again. "Very good, Minister, very good! Can't play favourites...but you do us in the Slug Club proud!"

"I am honoured," Riddle said, not really feeling that way at all. Luckily, the conversation was cut short by an announcement from the centre stage.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, would I have your attention please? I would like to invite all attendees to the centre of the room in honour of the Minister. We will soon be conducting the Ministerial Waltz."

A pleased murmur came from the crowd. Tom Riddle did not share the sentiment. There was only person he wished to dance with. And he was not here.

 _I haven't seen him in ages._ thought Tom, wistfully. As he had pursued a career in the Ministry, the frequency of time he was able spend with Harry had become more and more limited. At some point, they had stopped meeting at all, due to the amount of work Riddle found himself saddled by.

But that had not stopped Tom Riddle's desire of him. Every night, as he lay in bed, he could not help but reflect on the time he had spent with the man, and how their nightly passions would undo them both- _as he would lie there in between Harry's legs, panting, staring into that exotic green and black combination. He would sink in lower, causing Harry to moan with pleasure and contract around him like a vice-_

"I dare say, but who is that unaccompanied woman on the staircase?" Slughorn suddenly commented.

Riddle sighed, not particularly paying close attention, his thoughts on Harry. He supposed he had to play along, just to entertain his professor. "Which woman?"

"The one in the green dress!"

 _Such is the life of the Minister for Magic._ Tom Riddle thought, dismally, _Entertaining people I do not care for._

Tom's eyes followed Slughorn's gaze.

And his breath caught in his throat.

She was wearing a dress, but what a dress it was. Emerald green, form fitting, with inlaid crystals woven into the dress. The way it was cut showed off her collarbones, exposing the pale skin above the breast. It was designed empire-style, cascading onto the ground akin to a green waterfall. The dress whisked with her svelte movements and sparkled in the light. Her small arms were clad in matching green arm-length gloves.

Her long black hair was pinned up around her heart-shaped face, a silver tiara nestled on her head. Silver earrings, long and ornate, shined in the light of the room. Around her throat was a silver serpent necklace with ruby eyes, the mouth of the snake clasping its half-bent tail.

Bright neon eyes framed by black sclera gazed out over the crowd, like the Queen of Sheba surveying her queendom. There was only one person Tom Riddle knew that had such eyes.

"Harry." he breathed.

"How exotic her eyes are!" Slughorn said, "I suppose she must have conjured some type of illusion for it, though I must admit, a rather unsettling effect-"

"Excuse me, Professor." Tom Riddle murmured, and quickly passed the length of the ballroom, approaching the staircase. His heart was pounding, and as he approached closer, he struggled over what to say.

 _You can transform into a woman?_ was the first thing he thought, and _It is good to see you,_ and the unsaid, unspoken, unmentionable- _I missed you._

"Yes, Ladies and gentlemen, it's time. I would invite the Minister to come forth to lead the dance!"

Tom Riddle froze at the bottom of the stairs, as the lights of the ballroom shined down on him. He turned, facing the expectant crowd.

The dance.

A slender hand gripped his shoulder, and he looked over, meeting electric green eyes.

"Shall we?" asked Harry, tilting her head at angle.

"Let's." said Tom Riddle, and he grasped her by the waist, whirling her into the observant crowd of spectators.

 

"You are stunning." Tom Riddle informed her, after the third dance had completed. The crowd had clapped for their Minister and his partner. Following their first solo dance, the remainder of the party had joined in, until the room was a sea of swirling cloaks and dresses. The two had made their way over to the side of the room for a breath of air. 

She was standing next to a large scarlet drape, which had the unintended effect of magnifying her green dress. Tom could not help but stare at every inch of the clinging emerald fabric; how it hugged her curves.

"You flatter me, Tom." said Harry, batting her eyelashes.

"But don't do that." Riddle said. "I still know you're a man underneath all that."

"I am a woman," Harry rolled her head, exposing her pale throat. She then stretched her gloved arm up to clasp at the drape, pulling on it gently. Tom swallowed at the gesture, feeling heat.

"But not a real one."

"What is a real one to you?" she asked. "Do you need to find out?"

Tom Riddle felt his face redden. But, unwilling to be humiliated, he leaned down until he was whispering in her ear.

"Why don't you show me?" His arms caged around her.

She let out a slow exhale at that and took a half step into his embrace. _The necklace was nice touch_ , mused Riddle, as she tilted her head up towards his.

But as soon as he began leaning down to kiss her, his eyes half closed, he felt her soft body suddenly stiffen, then harden- and he was embracing a man once more. "Harry..." said Tom cautiously, looking quickly around to see if anyone had noticed. Seeing none, he stepped back.

Harry was no longer in a dress, but a similarly coloured emerald green wizards' robes. The jewelry had vanished. His bright green and midnight eyes were creased with suppressed mirth.

"I suppose you find this funny, right when I'm about to kiss you." said Riddle.

"Don't let that stop you," Harry murmured.

It didn't. Tom Riddle gently cupped Harry's cheek as he teased his mouth open, and their tongues danced, caressing each other sensually. But before Tom could get really excited, Harry had placed a palm on his chest, leaning back to stare up at him.

"I believe the Minister owes me another dance?"

Tom closed his eyes, willing the tightness in his groin to lower. Harry only gave him a teasing half-smile, and dug into his own pockets, withdrawing his circular glasses. He placed them over his eyes, and the sclera shifted to ordinary white as the green became more muted. Tom brushed Harry's short black hair affectionately, and gave a kiss above his eyebrow, on the scar.

"I can only wonder what the public will think, seeing the Minister with both a woman and a man this evening?" teased Harry as Riddle led him to the dance floor, passing the multitude still weaving around them.  As soon as they reached the centre of the room, Tom hooked his left hand around Harry's waist, extending his right palm out with Harry's right hand.

"That he's a very lucky man." Tom Riddle whispered, and Harry laughed. The two swirled onto the dance floor, as the orchestra began to play a vigorous waltz. 

They danced for the remainder of the gala, rejoicing in the song and in each other.

 

It had been beautiful evening, Tom Riddle reflected, as he embraced his lover's soft curves in the warmth of his bed. True to Harry's word, they had explored his womanhood, and while Tom had concurred that he preferred his masculine form, he was appreciative of the experience.

He showed that by kissing down her back, pausing where he knew her wings, albeit hidden, were located. She gave a soft moan at that.

"Tom..." she murmured, cracking one neon eye open. He gently stroked his hand through her now long black hair, which was spilled around her face.

"Go back to sleep, Harry." he said, shifting up into the bed so that he could look over her.

"You know I don't sleep." Harry said.

"Well keep faking it."

She gave him another kiss, a small nip on the lip, then buried herself back down into the sheets, moving herself into his side. Satisfied at the position, she then shut her eyes, relaxing her face.

Riddle traced her eyebrows with the tips of his fingers, running them over her cheekbones. He ghosted the pads of his fingers over the prominent bone, tracing circles. Even though they had just finished a rather... _vigorou_ s session of lovemaking, Tom found her skin to be cool as ever.

He drew his hand back, and rested it on his own chest, tapping a small rhythm. After an hour of silent reflection, he spoke up again "So, what made you come tonight?"

"You really thought I wouldn't?" said Harry, eyes snapping open. She then sat up. Tom had a nice view of her pale, bare front. He reached a hand out to caress her curves, but then the chest flattened into a male's flat pectorals. Riddle scowled.

Harry chuckled, grabbing Tom Riddle's hand, where it was held in mid-air to grasp the previously round breasts. "Going somewhere with that?"

"I can just as easily grab something else that will have you writhing on the sheets." replied Tom.

Harry swatted his hand away. "You are insatiable." He stretched his pale body, folding his hands in his lap.

Another pause. Riddle spoke up. "I did not think you would come tonight."      

"Why?"

"I thought you might be angry about me taking the position of Minister."

"Who told you that?"

"Tom."

 "He's projecting his own thoughts," Harry sighed. Tom Riddle brushed a hand through his own hair. "Is he still not talking to you?"

"No." Harry closed his eyes for a brief moment. "I don't know how to reach him."

 Riddle dropped his hands into his lap. "He's still angry you're sleeping with me."

"I know he is." Harry said, quietly. He looked so sad in that moment that Tom embraced him.

"I will keep working on him, Harry. " he kissed the other man's brow. "Don't think about it too much."

 

** Sources: **

_"Ministry March" inspired by soundtrack "The Transylvanian March", My Fair Lady, (1964)_

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hx78QfVi5wQ

_Harry's female form and ballroom scene, inspired by film scene from My Fair Lady (1964) - The Embassy Ball_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=H-_4IfNfVH4>

_Harry re-transforms and dances: Inspired by fanart done by Tumblr user riddleandpotter:_

<http://riddleandpotter.tumblr.com/search/this+art+is+mine/>


	21. Chapter 21

Tom Potter focused his eyes on the door. He dipped his eyes to the pamphlet clutched in his pale hand.

"The Communist Party of Great Britain." he read off it, eyes focused on the matching address. He reached a hand to knock on the door.

"Yes, who is it?" a deep voice came from within.

"I read your flyer. I wish to speak you all."

The door opened, revealing a haggard looking man, who looked Tom over appraisingly, "Don't suppose you workin' for the Transport and General Workers Union, eh?"

"No." Tom said coolly.

"Jus' interested then? Come on in." the man said, "Mr....?

"Potter, but my name is unimportant. What is important is the issues that we need to address in our hopelessly corrupt nation."

The man gave him a second look, "Interestin' thought there Mr. Potter. I'm George Bennett. Been involved with the miner's strike. Sure you've heard about it...?"

"Somewhat," he said disinterestedly. The men walked into the room, where several members sat smoking around a coffee table.

"Well, that's Jack Jones over there, Benjamin Grant, Mark Culler..."

"What do you know of magic, Mr. Bennett?" interrupted Tom.

"Like a magic trick? Make a coin disappear? "

"Oh no, Mr. Bennett," Tom said quietly, "I can do so much more than make a _coin_ disappear."

 

"The Americans are here to see you, Minister Riddle."

Tom Riddle waved an authoritative hand from his position behind a large, mahogany desk. "Show them in."

A man and a woman appeared in the entranceway of the Minister for Magic’s office, a handsome pair, well-dressed. The man was a tall, well-built figure with dark hair and hazel eyes. The woman was a blue-eyed petite blonde, and by their matching rings, it was apparent they were a couple. They walked side-by-side, approaching the large desk. Both paused, and the man gave a nod of the head, acknowledging Riddle’s authority.

"Charles Morgan," the man spoke up as introduction, as Riddle rose from his seat, "MACUSA, Minister Riddle."

"A pleasure." the two shook hands.

"This is my wife, Mary Catherine. She's No-Maj relations."

"No-Maj?" replied Riddle, curious.

"I think you call them Muggles."

"Ah. Please sit."

The three all sat, and the woman tucked a strand of blonde hair nervously behind her ear. Riddle cleared his throat. "I do not suppose I can offer you tea?"

The man looked to his wife. She shook her head.

"No, thank you, Minister, " Charles Morgan replied. Riddle folded his hands. "Mr.Morgan, I have been told you have some rather pressing information…"

"Indeed we do," spoke Mrs. Morgan, "I insisted we see you."

Riddle blinked, and Mr. Morgan chuckled. "She wouldn't let us leave the country without seeing you personally...Minister."

"That urgent?" Riddle said, curious.

"Our tale is short, but indeed strange,"  Morgan continued, "We just got back from the USSR. We stopped in London on our way home, and we found some rather interesting flyers at our hotel. They reminded us of our trip."

Riddle paused, interested. "What flyers?"

Morgan took out a black leather case and unclipped it open. Riddle observed the inside was littered with moving images of Quodpot players. "Sports fan?" he commented.

"Somewhat," the man said, pulling out sheet tucked underneath a burgundy sweater, "Here it is."

Riddle took the sheet in his head, focusing on the image. Against a red background, a yellow hand clutched a wicked scythe. Opposing it was a paired hand, clutching a wand. They were crossed.

"This is..." the Minister said, mouth going dry.

"Basically the symbol of the Communist party." Morgan observed, tapping the scythe. "But instead of the hammer, now it's a wand."

"Where did you get this?"

"We were staying at a No-Maj hotel near Trafalgar square. Mary's big on the No-Maj stuff, so we decided to stay somewhere local."

"Give me the address."

Riddle sent a team of aurors to the hotel. Despite their careful inspection of the grounds, they were unable to trace any source to the distributor of the flyers.

 

"I would thank you all for joining me here tonight." Tom began.

A small group had assembled in the hall of the manor. There was a sense of trepidation in the room, as nervous glances were shot amongst each other, in fear of being recognized.

"I understand it is difficult for many of our group to be here-"

"Aren't you the Minister's brother?" cut a bold voice from the crowd.

Potter ground his teeth. "Yes. That does not mean I do not share in his beliefs. In fact, I vehemently oppose them." He looked over the crowd now, "Many of you have been isolated by the new regulations the Ministry has passed against Muggleborns. I sympathize, as a fellow member of this oppressed group."

He scanned his eyes across the room. "But I know not all of you share in this. Some of you in the ranks are pure-bloods, who have been equally been discarded by the Riddle administration for your sympathy towards our non-magical brethren. That ends now."

The man turned, pointing his wand. A large banner unfurled from the ceiling, a crossed yellow symbol of hammer and wand on a field of red.

"We are the voice of the people. Wizard and Muggle, united for the end of this segregation of our worlds. We must rebuild our societies, friends." He had an earnest look on his face now, "We must change ourselves, and then we can change the classism and strife that plagues us now."

"How do we do that?" said a witch, black hair tied around her heavy face.

"I am glad you asked. We must start slowly. Revolutions are built on careful planning. But we must systemically eradicate the authoritative rule that is coming for us all. Riddle is only the head of the so-called proverbial hydra. We cannot cut one head off and expect anything to be different."

"When does our revolution begin? And how?" asked the witch.

"Now." said Tom Potter, eyes gleaming. "And to how do we do it? We send them a message."

 

"What has you so engrossed?" Harry said, approaching Tom Riddle from the kitchen. Despite Tom Riddle's insistence over the years, the man refused to leave his home. Riddle suspected he was still holding out for Tom Potter.

 _He'll wait until the end of time for that prat,_ Riddle thought in irritation.

"Something's going on." Riddle said, gesturing to the Prophet. Harry's green and black eyes focused on the headline.

ROGUE ATTACKS AGAINST REGISTERED PURE-BLOOD FAMILIES INCREASE.

"Attacks...?" Harry cast a suspicious look to Riddle. Tom scowled at him.

"While we are both mind-readers, Potter, I must address that we have already discussed this: I am not the Dark Lord. Also, this is against pure-bloods. Remember, I'm in support of them." he folded the paper with his long fingers.

"You know I can't read minds." Harry sat down, wings folding around his shoulders. "Who are these pure-bloods? Your supporters?"

Riddle nodded. "Yesterday it was the Carrows. Last week it was the Avery family."

"What kind of attacks?"

"So far, no deaths, which is the good news in all this. But..."

"But what?"

"Every one of the victims was either subjected to the Cruciatus or the Imperius Curse. "

"Dark Wizards." concluded Harry.

"That's what I'm not sure about. " Riddle drew forth a flyer underneath the paper, tapping the symbol. "There is almost a strange moral code to it. They won't kill, but they are not above tormenting someone to achieve their own ends."

Riddle then paused his finger over the flyer.

"I'm sensing confusion and loss from you." said the winged man.

Tom Riddle stood up.

"There's something I need to do."

 

“Potter!” Riddle barked, ascending the stairs that lead to Tom Potter's flat until he stood at the top of the stairs. “Where are you!?”

No answer came from behind the door. Riddle's stomach sunk as he approached the well-worn door handle, a niggling thought dancing about his mind.

_Only the Cruciatus..._

The thought disturbed him, bringing up buried memories of watching Tom torture the Riddles so many years ago. Riddle had thought himself past the stage of caring about the fate of his Muggle relatives, but the memory of that day brought about a well-earned fear.

 _What could unite the Muggles and Wizard-kind to subvert the Ministry?_ He let loose several loud knocks at the door, but as before, no answer came from within.

 _Tom cannot be involved_ , he thought to himself, attempting to remain calm. _Perhaps I am jumping to conclusions. It cannot possibly be him._ “I hate to do this, but you leave me no choice.” Riddle muttered. He drew out his wand. “ _Alohomora.”_

The door unlocked, and Riddle strode inside.

The place was empty. While Riddle had understood Tom's need for his own place, the few times Riddle had been invited over it had the makings of a perfectly normal flat. Now, not even a box nor chair decorated the room, and appeared abandoned.

The Minister for Magic walked about the rooms, looking for any evidence, any trace that perhaps would indicate Tom's involvement with the rogue attacks.

All that remained in the apartment was a copy of the Daily Prophet, left in the empty master bedroom. Riddle stooped down, taking the paper into his hands. The paper was from mere days ago and had little sign of use. Riddle opened it to the first page. When he read the headline, he crushed the paper in his hands, throwing it to the ground in frustration.

 

“How dare they,” snarled Tom Potter, re-reading the headline from his seat at the head table. Fittingly for his campaign, the Longbottom manor had come to be of great use as Tom Potter's staging grounds for his revolutionary ideas. Thus far the manor had proved its usefulness in hosting the ever-growing movement, which grew day by day.

“Sir?” piped an anxious voice from further down the long, mahogany table. Tom held up a hand. The room fell silent.

“ _Presumed_   _Dark Lord ascends, plunging wizarding world into impending chaos._ _”_ he snapped, gesturing to the front page of the _Daily Prophet_ clutched in his hand. “ _Is it the return of Grindelwald or his followers_? _How to stay safe in these troubling times._ How dare they insult me this way. _A Dark Lord_.”

The room held in silence as Tom threw the copy of the _Daily Prophet_ down before him .The man drew forth his holly wand, pointing it into the centre of paper.

“ _Incendio._ _”_

Tom Potter stared at the paper, moving his wand away from the heat that radiated below. _The Prophet_ burned on the table, ashes rising into the air while the pages curled and disintegrated. The moving pictures darted anxiously in their square confinements as they were incinerated by the flames. Smoke rose from the paper, clouding Tom's face in a grey haze.

“By what shall you be addressed?” a voice broke the silence in the dimmed room. Murmurs came from the other seated individuals, all focused on the man at the head of the table.

Tom's hand shot out, grabbing the remaining paper, which continued to burn. The flames curled around his hand, yet he did nothing, allowing it to burn into his skin. He held still until it was finished. When it was ash, he released onto the table.

Tom clenched his burnt hand into a fist. His eyes flicked up to the table.

“Dark Lord?”

Potter opened his hand to reveal the burn marks around his palm, reddened striped burns emblazoned on his skin. In what was most certainly a painful gesture, he slammed his burned palm to the table, unflinchingly, and leaned forward determinedly.

“We are the antithesis of the Dark. We stand for the justice of the people. We are the Light. I shall make it perfectly clear to all of you gathered here. We are united by our common goal-a utopia for Muggles and wizards in a harmonious society. We shall break the Ministry's regulations against Muggles and Muggleborns and take our rightful places as leaders in this brand-new world we shall create. Will you stand with me? Pledge to me now!”

“I pledge!" a baritone voice broke out, "I pledge...to the Light Lord!” 

Tom's eyes widened at the title, and he searched amongst the seated individuals to whom had spoken it. But mere seconds passed, and then the entire table rose to their feet, goblets held up to the man sitting at the head.

"To the Light Lord!" the voices echoed, cups glinting in the light.

"Long live our union!" a woman's voice cut out. 

"Long live our people, united and free!" cried another.

Overwhelmed with emotion at this display of support, Tom Potter took his own goblet, raising it upon high, to the excited cheers of the group. Toasting his party, he drank deep, basking in his moment of glory, all the while as the assembly cheered:

"To freedom! To victory! To our leader!"

"To the Light Lord!"

 

** Sources: **

_The Communist Party of Great Britain, (Names are Fictional), and Transport and General Workers Union:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Communist_Party_of_Great_Britain>

<https://www.mi5.gov.uk/the-threat-of-subversion>

  _The Americans: inspired by real people_

<https://www.pottermore.com/writing-by-jk-rowling/macusa>

_Flyer: Inspired by Communist Party Symbol:_

<https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/7/7e/Hammer_and_sickle.svg/1024px-Hammer_and_sickle.svg.png>

" _We send them a message," inspired by Avatar (2009), Jake Sully's war speech_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-VGSvAlse5Y>

_Referring to the Rise of the Light Lord_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/First_Wizarding_War>

_1970s:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/1970s>

_Soviet Anthem (in English)_

[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7pbnTI1_LM&t](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i7pbnTI1_LM&t)


	22. Chapter 22

“Minister Riddle!”

Tom Riddle walked past the office of the undersecretary, unwilling to talk to anyone at the moment. His ever-increasing fear was of what Tom Potter was doing, followed by his own risk of being dethroned from his position as Minister for Magic.

_If it is made known to the public that my brother could be involved in these attacks...I could be dismissed._

Riddle had worked too hard and too long for this to happen this early in his career. He stepped past a pair of Aurors examining a moving map, delving deeper into the bowels of the Ministry. His thoughts clouded of how he could effectively deal with Tom Potter without the involvement of the authorities.

 _Am I withholding information?_ He thought to himself, stress clenching in his stomach, _It would not be beyond the Prophet to expose us. My position could very well be forfeit if there is a solid connection to me and Tom._

“Minister Riddle!”

Riddle's shoulders stiffened, but he then turned, realizing he could no longer tune out his subordinates. “Rookwood,” he addressed the speaker, sizing up the man, who stood close to his own height.

“Minister,” Rookwood began, respectfully, “There's been another incident.”

“What kind?” Riddle asked, eyes narrowing.

“Well, it certainly has complicated matters...” Rookwood paused, sensing Riddle's darkening mood. “But I will do as best I can to explain. The incident involved the Muggle Parliament a few short hours ago. A spell was cast over the room, leaving a mark in plain view of the Muggles themselves.”

“Did anything happen to the Muggles during this incident?” Riddle said, disbelief echoing in his words.  “Any injuries, deaths?”

“Nothing of that sort,” Rookwood said. “Whatever they had seen was taken care by Obliviators. Seems whoever is out there wanted to reach not only a magical, but a non-magical audience.” The man withdrew a picture from his coat, handing it over to Riddle for inspection.

The Minister for Magic took the paper, which depicted members of the Muggle Parliament sitting underneath what was clearly a spell-casted symbol. It hung above the room, the wand and sickle shape hovering above the dumbstruck crowd. A person in a dark cloak could be seen casting the spell towards the back of the room, but nothing in the photo revealed any facial details.

“Was there any trace of this magic?” Riddle said, “Any leads to whom could be responsible?”

“Only one, Minister. The individual was reported saying 'for the Light Lord.'”

“The Light Lord?” Riddle asked in confusion, “Who is, or what is, the Light Lord?”

“Their leader. It would seem they are the catalyst of the Wizard-Muggle Communist group that's been rising up. A group of disillusioned wizards and witches are rallying behind him in greater numbers. They call themselves the Dawn Breakers.”

“Dawn Breakers?” Riddle repeated.

“His followers. This is a more public incident of their prolific behavior.” Rookwood tapped the photograph, right on the symbol itself. “But this symbol was not meant to inspire fear in the Muggles. Rather, it is seen as encouragement. It is, however, meant to inspire fear within our own ranks.”

“How so?” Riddle said, frowning.

“It means they're bold enough to go out into the Muggle world, Minister. Without fear of repercussion from a non-magical audience who historically has persecuted us over the centuries. This means more and more Muggles are joining their cause. We could be in danger.”

Riddle stared off to a poster on the wall, depicting a moving image of witches and wizards playing Quidditch. He watched as a small Snitch dart between the two opposing teams. He was struck with inspiration.

“Quidditch,” he started, “When is the next game?”

“For Quidditch?” Rookwood look baffled, “Minister, I believe more pressing subjects are on hand-”

“They want attention.” Riddle finalized. “First we saw the flyers, then the Muggles are being exposed. What better way to grab the attention of a large wizarding audience?” Riddle walked up to the poster, lifting his hand as a Quaffle magically flew across the portrait.

“Myself and a team of aurors will attend the next major Quidditch match.” Riddle said, watching Rookwood's mouth open, “The Ministry will not stay on the sidelines during this war.”

Rookwood swallowed. “War, minister?”

Tom Riddle turned to face his subordinate, an unreadable expression on his face. “Yes. They are declaring their war.” Riddle folded his arms across his chest, lifting his eyes to the ceiling above to punctuate his words,

“We are declaring ours.”

 

“AND SCORE! The Caerphilly Catapults are making an incredible comeback this afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! Will it be enough to surpass the Wimbourne Wasps, who are leading the score 50-34? What a match! Seeker Fiennes versus Seeker Radcliffe in what has been an intense battle since meeting each other in a tie last autumn-”

“These are incredible seats, Minister Riddle.” Harry said affectionately beside him, interrupting the monologue from the announcer, “Despite the fact you aren't watching the game.”

Riddle made a half-grunt in acknowledgment, focused on the stadium around them. _Show yourselves.._. he thought, watching the team of aurors he had with them scouring the stands. Harry, sensing Riddle's disinterest, simply shrugged in their shared box, returning to watching the match intently.

“You played Seeker, I recall.” Riddle finally commented, after no signals from his squad had been made in over an hour, “How does it compare to watching it?”

“Honestly, it is a bit aggravating,” Harry said, the afternoon sun glinting on his spectacles as he watched the Catapult's seeker, “I have my own style of playing, and trying to compare it to another player is rather unfair. I can see the entire scope of the game versus being on broomstick watching for the- SNITCH!”

Riddle watched as Harry leapt from his chair, and only then did he see the small golden orb hovering over their shared booth. Unfortunately, neither the Catapults nor the Wasps were in earshot, so the Snitch simply bobbed a few times, then zipped off.

“Incredible,” Riddle said, “You haven't lost your skills.”

“My other ambition was to be a Quidditch player. My father played as well, as a Chaser.”

“Your father? How is he doing?”

Harry gave a small smile, sitting back down into his seat. “Very well. I saw him last leaving for Hogwarts to start his semester. It was nice to see him and my grandparents' great big send off.”

“And your mother?”

Harry shook his head. “I am hoping to see her over the holiday break- it is more difficult for me to visit the Muggle world.”

“You could always turn into a cat-” Riddle started.

 **BAM** went a loud noise throughout the stadium. The two men rose to their feet at attention, as suddenly a crossed pair of wand and sickle rose into the air, shimmering golden.

“The Light Lord!” cursed Riddle, watching as the aurors in the stands streamed towards the center of the pitch.

“Who?” Harry demanded, as Riddle leaned out of the box. The Minister leaned out, watching the Aurors apprehend a small figure towards the bottom of the stadium.

“Stay here,” Riddle said, as Harry opened his mouth to repeat his demand, “Let us handle this, there's no need to get riled up.”

“What's going on, Tom?” Harry said, gripping Tom's arm painfully.

“Nothing. It's simply a war I am trying to prevent.” Riddle said unthinkingly, hurrying towards the exit box.

“War?!” Harry demanded, eyes glowing in alarm. “What war?" In his agitation, Harry's wings reappeared, flapping out in distress. Black feathers fully extended out as he appeared in front of Riddle, blocking his way out of the box.

“Wings away, Harry!" he said in exasperation, lest attention be drawn to them both, “I'll explain as soon as I return. It won't be long. Stay here until I come back for you.” Riddle said hurriedly, a feeling of trepidation rising within.

  _If that's Tom down there..._ Riddle gripped Harry's shoulder as he passed by him in a gesture of support, but Harry only shook his head, standing aside with a distressed look. The sports announcer continued on behind them, undeterred,

“LADIES AND GENTLEMAN, YOUR ATTENTION PLEASE. We are still continuing the game, taking on a brief time-out as the sky is cleared from the graffiti. It is only simple act of vandalism, being dealt with now by our illustrious Ministry!”

Several boos came out from the crowd, which had Riddle pausing in mid-step down the stairs from his booth.

“Against the Ministry...” he commented distastefully. “I have more to fear from the public than one dissenter.”

The aurors had made their way up to his box, Rookwood leading them. “Minister Riddle, as you have requested, we have brought the culprit.” It was a witch, heavyset, wearing loose robes. Riddle did not recognize her.

“Who are you, and what is the meaning of this?” Riddle gestured to the sky, where the referee on broomstick was spelling the golden symbol out of the sky, “Explain to me.”

The witch didn't respond, opting to spit at his face instead.

Rookwood grabbed her arm, forcing her to the ground in a shove. “You will honour the position of the Minister for Magic.”

“Minister of bigoted pure-bloods,” the witch said, scowling. Her small, round black eyes glared into Riddle's grey, “You are not my Minister. You are a leader of supremacists, unfit to be in the office that you claim to serve-”

“No, you serve a different master. Who is the Light Lord?” Riddle said, voice demanding as he spoke down to her. The witch then gave a coy smile, developing into a sneer.

“I think you know as well as I do who he truly is.”

Riddle scowled, not liking the implication. "Where is he?"

The Dawn Breaker only laughed at that. "You'll see him very soon, _Mr. Riddle_. And all of you shall punished. Our way is the true way, you are nothing but charlatans, clinging on to your positions of power, as if they mean something."

Tom Riddle gave a snarl, digging out his long wand as his temper raged at her conceited tone. But he found himself unable to press her further as a wizard Apparated adjacent to the steps behind them, looking worse-for wear.

“I just came from outside the stadium,” the auror huffed in exertion, bending to his knees to catch his breath- “This is meant to be a distraction. They are attacking businesses known to be backed by pure-blood wizards outside the gate.”

“Rookwood,” Riddle directed, pointing at the smirking witch from her position on the floor, “Take her back to the Ministry for further questioning. Myself and the others will deal with these usurpers.”

Rookwood grabbed the witch's arm, giving a half-salute. “I will return as soon as possible, Minister.”

“Send reinforcements in your stead,” Riddle concluded, “I need your precise methods in obtaining information from our accomplice here.”

“Torture, Minister?” the woman implicated, “Is that your idea of justice?”

Riddle chose to dismiss the claim, speaking over her as if she were not there- “Interrogation, Augustus.” Rookwood bowed, then tightened his grip on the witch, manhandling her to one of the gates.

As Riddle left the stadium, he could hear the game progress on from the commentator. “After that minor delay, we return to our current match, with Caerphilly scoring another goal-”

Riddle beckoned over to a younger Auror who was closest to him. The youth obeyed, as Riddle pointed to him directly. “Don't let anyone out of the stadium, no matter the end-time. Tell the announcer and staff of this Quidditch pitch that this is an order by the Ministry that no one is to leave. We must deal with this as quickly and quietly as possible.”

The auror, a tall boy with blonde hair, gave a curt nod in understanding. He quickly departed the throng led by Riddle.

“Now, “Riddle said, “The rest of you, follow me.”

 

A loud crash was heard as Riddle and the team Apparated to the nearby village outside the stadium. A business declaring 'Owl Post Services' was blown out from within, smoke rising from inside the shop. Other shops along the road were in similar states, with windows shattered, and goods littering the street.

Riddle extended his wand, with his team of Aurors at his side. “Use any means necessary to apprehend these misguided persons. We need as much information as we can on this terrorist organization.”

“Terrorist?” someone mumbled from behind. Riddle chose to ignore, walking cautiously to the main square. More shops were broken into, vandalized with the sickle and wand painted on broken doors. The small group began to disperse, seeking out any persons in and around the square. Riddle walked down an alleyway himself, accompanied by two aurors. When they had no luck, they re-entered the square, but found themselves no longer alone.

“Minister Riddle.” identified a voice from above an emptied shop, “Unsurprisingly, you and your Ministry are here to end our noble work.”

From the roof nearest to them dropped a masked man in black wizards' robes. His face was covered, a white mask with narrowed slits for eyes. At the eye-level towards the top of the mask was formed several large, bronze spikes. They were carved akin to the rays of the sun in a circular pattern, giving the impression of a twisted crown around the face.

“You must be the Light Lord.” Riddle pointed his wand directly at the man, “If your state of dress is any indication.”

“Correct, Minister Riddle,” came the familiar voice, confirming Riddle's worst suspicions, “And do not think I came alone.” The tall man raised his arm, extending his hand. He made a snap between his fingers.

At the sound, out came from the broken shops were people in odd dress, which Riddle immediately identified them as... _Muggles._

“What is the meaning of this?” Riddle demanded, as the Muggles circled around them, pointing various weapons at him and the team. “You bring these people here! To the wizarding community! Are you insane? You are violating every known statue of Magical Law-”

“Your time as Minister for Magic is at an end, Riddle.” came the reply from the masked Light Lord, disregarding the Minister's tirade, “I shall bring to the wizarding world a freer, truer society, undoing the harsh regulations you have against Muggleborns and Muggles-”

“These Muggles will kill all of us without a second thought!” roared Riddle, “And you bring them here!”

“Kill us, Minister Riddle?” snapped the Light Lord. “Think again.”

Riddle watched in disbelief as from behind the Muggles came forth several witches and wizards, surprisingly unmasked. No one struck familiar to him, but he could hear gasps of recognition from his team of Aurors.

“A leader who hides behind a mask, while the lot of you are exposed,” Riddle pointed his wand accusingly at the assembled group, “Strange he inspires so much loyalty for those about to face trial for Azkaban.”

“And that's where you are wrong, Minister.” The Light Lord... _Tom_ , thought Riddle to himself in anger, “We are taking you and your team as prisoner.”

Riddle snarled, “You shall try and you shall fail.”

“You are outnumbered,” came the smooth reply, “It would be in your best interest to comply.”

“Well, it is a good thing I don't listen to your advice.” Riddle snapped, watching the Light Lord shift uncomfortably at his own repeated words. _Tom, stop this now,_ he thought, wishing in that moment he could send thoughts telepathically, _You will fail and send us both to Azkaban._

“I suppose you'll need a demonstration,” echoed the Light Lord. He drew forth his familiar holly wand, and pointed it straight at Riddle, “Now all of you put your wands down unless you want to see your Minister brought to heel.” Riddle fumed, and he opened his mouth in the midst of hexing his masked doppelganger.

But he was interrupted when huge shadow and a large **_ROAR_** so loud that it shook the ground echoed in the village. Most of the assembled circle craned their heads upwards to the sky, while Riddle focused solely on the man in front of him.

“Dragon!” shrieked a nearby Muggle in fear. She pointed her handgun towards the sky, firing wildly. She was in a minority attacking the dragon, as most of the assembled Muggles screamed, throwing down weapons and running in panic. The bullets bounced uselessly on the dragon's heavy hide, ricocheting into the street below.

“No!” roared the Light Lord as the Muggles fled, “Do not flee the battlefield, comrades, stand your ground!” The wizards and witches, to their credit, remained where they were, pointing wands up to the sky to the black shadow dwarfing them all.

“Deal with them!” The Light Lord demanded, letting forth a string of curses as he walked out of the circle, as the Dawn Breakers pressed inwards.

Riddle could not identify the dragon, but someone did it for him. “A Hungarian Horntail!” came a panicked shout from behind.

The Minister barely registered this information as he darted forward to impede the Light Lord. “ _Expelliarmus_!”  The Light Lord ducked from the spell as the man's loyal servants sending disarming spells towards the assembled group, keeping them away from their Lord.

“RARRRRRRRUGHHH!” came the noise again, and Riddle watched as the black creature crashed onto the ground in front of the Light Lord. Neon green eyes stared angrily out, long claws digging into the stony street. The beast hissed as the Light Lord approached, steam curling out from between its rows of pointed teeth.

_Harry!_

“HARRY NO!” Riddle shouted.

But it fell on deaf ears. The dragon puffed itself up, and then sent forth a stream of fire straight towards the Light Lord. The man's clothes ignited as flames began to lick up his left sleeve. The Light Lord gave a scream of pain as he burned, rolling on the cobbled street as to put the flames out.

“Tom!” yelled Riddle, running towards the masked man writhing on the ground. “Tom!” he repeated, as the man clumsily squirmed to his feet, half-standing before the dragon.

Harry snarled and struck out with his spiked tail towards the Light Lord's face. Half of the mask broke off, clattering to the cobblestone street below. What was underneath the mask was the distressed face of Tom Potter, eyes shining bright in pain. 

The black dragon stared in what must have been shock, or the closest expression a dragon could make on its scaled maw. The beast let out a primal scream, teeth fully exposed as it bellowed. The Light Lord wasted no time, managing to throw dirt to his burned arm, putting out the flames to heavily-burned skin.

“Don't move, Tom!” Riddle called, running towards him. Despite what must have been severe pain, the Light Lord slowly rose to his feet as the Minister approached. Half of his face was still covered in the white mask, the other half revealing reddened skin and hateful eyes.

“This is not the end, Tom Riddle.” the masked man spat, his left arm exposed and red at his side, “This is only the beginning.”

“You are hereby under custody of the Ministry of Magic,” Riddle replied tonelessly, pointing his wand and ignoring Tom's threats, “And shall be henceforth placed under arrest as so dictated by article-”

The dragon let out an anguished cry as Tom Potter stumbled in pain, and Riddle's attention went to the beast. In that moment of distraction Tom Disapparated, leaving behind the Minister for Magic and the large black reptile on the cobblestone street. Harry began beating his reddish wings in obvious distress, head tossing from side to side akin to a panicked horse.

Riddle did not wish to explain both Harry and Tom Potter to his team. “Go Harry!” he yelled, waving his arms to get the dragon's attention, “Get out of here, before the rest of the Ministry arrives!”

The dragon gave him warble, looking torn as a sentient beast could look. Riddle could see the slitted pupils expanding and dilating rapidly.

“He's gone, Potter! Go before you are killed!” Riddle pointed his wand at the dragon, sending sparks and yelling, “GO!”

With a whimper, the great beast rose up into the sky, letting forth another roar of anguish as the huge wings sent large gusts of air towards the ground, causing Riddle to hunch to avoid being swept away. Several aurors sent spells spiraling after the shapeshifter, but Harry evaded, flying over the small village in a furious spurt of speed. Within minutes he was gone. Riddle rose to his full height.

The street was suddenly full of Aurors and several wizards from the magical control of beasts’ department, evident by the patches on their robes. Thankfully, Harry was far enough to fly away unscathed, and the wizards called off the pursuit, as the remainder apprehended the frightened Muggles huddling against shopfronts.

The same could not be said for Tom Potter. _Wherever he is, he is in incredible pain_ , Riddle thought to himself. Tom's arm had clearly born the brunt of the dragonfire. Riddle's quick visual diagnosis was third-degree burns. Tom Potter would not be putting an appearance anytime soon.

“Are you alright, Minister Riddle?” came a voice to his left. A pair of female Aurors stood at attention, nearly identical with long red hair. Riddle looked past them momentarily to witness the other reinforcements beginning to repair the damages made by the Dawn Breakers.

“I am,” Riddle said to the women, “What of the attackers? Have any been caught?”

“Very few, Minister. Mostly Muggles. One of the two witches apprehended was blood-relation to a Ministry of Magic employee, which has caused a bit of a stir in our department.”

Riddle could only empathize with them. _Likewise, I face my brother in a war_ , he thought to himself, watching the teams of Aurors and Ministry workers clear the scene, _when we were supposed to end the war together._

"I hurt him." said Harry, wringing his pale hands together as he paced in front of the large, wooden desk that had 'Minister Riddle' emblazoned on the front in silver letters.

"You knocked some sense in him," Riddle said absentmindedly, shifting papers across the desktop as he signed another document, "Nothing wrong with that."

The two were in the office of the Minister in the Ministry of Magic, and Tom Riddle was signing paperwork. The current document he had in front of him was several regulations that had needed attending to, particularly in regard to such dark creatures as werewolves and vampires. It had all been left behind in the hubris of the game that afternoon.

"You knew that was him," Harry said unhappily, finally facing Riddle at his desk. Thankfully the door was shut, for at that moment the quills rolled across the desk as Harry Potter flexed his left wing. It also had the effect of sliding the parchment off the table. Riddle gave him a pointed glare, and Harry dropped the offending appendage.

"I tried to warn you," Riddle said irritably, reaching to the side of his desk where the quills had gone.

"I know," Harry said in a meeker tone, bowing his head. "I was so angry I lost focus."

Riddle sighed. "Take a seat. I'll send for some tea after I deliver this message to the Unspeakables."

Harry sat into a large green chair facing towards the wooden desk, lettings his wings droop over the sides as Riddle drew out his wand. One of the parchments on the table lifted upwards, folded itself into a paper plane, and then proceeded to fly to the door. At the door, it slid underneath, and then it rose again. The Minister could observe it flying down the next hall.

"No Patronus?" Harry said curiously, watching the next signed parchment underneath Riddle's stack of paper self-fold, "I have seen Aurors cast Patroni to send quicker messages."

"I can't do a Patronus." Riddle returned the other quills from the floor to the desktop with his wand, neatly arranging them in a line by their colour.

"Really?" Harry said in surprise, as Riddle took his current quill and dipped it into ink. "Have you ever tried?"

"I have." Riddle said. It had been years earlier, when he been serving as an aide to the previous Minister for Magic. The man had requested that Riddle send his Patronus to summon the head of the Department of Magical Sports. Even the memory of that embarrassment made Riddle's ears turn red. "I could not cast one. Not even that silvery smoke you managed to conjure for us."

"I could teach you," Harry said abruptly, but Tom Riddle shook his head.

"I have no need of a Patronus. I have Aurors who can do it for me."

"You don't know that," Harry said, "Patroni are the only known method to deter Dementors."

"Thankfully, I am not their target." _For now._

The two sat in silence as Riddle continued signing the parchments. He then waved a wand, conjuring a tea pot.

"Your favourite. Earl grey."

"No- that would be Darjeeling tea." Harry corrected, "Earl grey is Tom's." His face fell again, and he tasked himself with pouring tea into his cup, lest he show his downtrodden face to the Minister for Magic.

Riddle slid his long fingers through his dark hair as he felt the need to address the proverbial elephant in the room. "Ah yes. Remiss of me. It's Tom's."

"He is the Light Lord then? The leader of these attacks." Harry said quietly.

"Unfortunately," Riddle conceded, levitating the tea pot to pour the heated beverage into a cup, "It would seem so."

"What would drive him to this?" Harry wrung his hands, as Riddle finished pouring, "This is not like him at all."

"Maybe," Riddle said thoughtfully, releasing the tea pot to grasp a nearby quill- "Or perhaps we did not know him as well as we thought we did. He's been out of the country over a decade. He's not the same person that left us all those years ago."

"I could speak with him," Harry picked up his voice, looking more energized at the thought, "Ask him to stop all this and-" the man trailed off, and Riddle realized Harry was perhaps as doubtful as he was.

"Somehow, Harry, I doubt he will be swayed." Riddle finalized, dabbing his quill in ink to sign another parchement, "First off, he has a vendetta against the Ministry. And you. And me."

Harry frowned. "Well, he is not in the wrong. There have been biased-against-Muggleborns regulations that have taken effect very recently. Many of which I have discussed with you-"

"-And I listened," Riddle argued, signing the parchment in black ink, and sliding it off his desk- "I made modifications to several legislations that you yourself criticized."

"It is not enough." Harry sat up higher in his seat. With Riddle hunched over the desk, it had the illusion of him looming over the normally tall Minister, "To Muggleborns, the concept of even registering for something seen as a given right is preposterous."

"It is for their own good. We have a pure-blood registry. Muggleborns need to be registered all the same."

Harry snorted, but moved away from the topic. "His vendetta against us. Our relationship. In that regard, we have wronged him. But for him to take that anger out on innocent people-"

"Makes him more relatable," Riddle sighed, realizing mindless signing of paperwork was not clearing his thoughts any further. He moved his hand over to the inkwell, quill in hand. "He feels he was wronged by his pure-blood family. I am willing to bet that he has used his history to recruit the most discontent of witches and wizards, no matter their magical heritage."

"Neither you or I are purebloods," Harry reminded Riddle. The Minister only gave a grumble at that remark, returning his quill to the inkwell.

"And that's not to leave this room," Riddle said, turning his chair to stand once more. His tea on the desk had gone cold. "But he sees us as pure-bloods. We both come from old wizarding families." The man nodded to his bookshelf, where his well-worn _Pureblood Directory_ resided, "Gaunt and Potter." he murmured.

"He is a Potter." Harry said stubbornly.

"He doesn't see it that way," Riddle walked over to the desk, pushing the _Directory_ further into the shelf. "It is a shame we do not share the same lineage, he and I. Or you." Riddle nodded courteously in Harry's direction, "Then he would be on my side."

"Sides in the wizarding world," Harry said, undeniable sadness in his voice, "The seeds of division between witches and wizards. This is how it began in my time. Those pure-bloods united for Voldemort, and those against him."

Tom Riddle raised an eyebrow, giving Harry a once-over and tasting the name on his tongue. _"Voldemort?"_

A rap at the door interrupted him.

"Minister Riddle?" came an inquiring voice from behind the door.

"Another time," Harry said, but Riddle could see sympathy lurking in his eyes, "I will see you in Godric's Hollow?"

"Once we've processed those apprehended." Riddle said in reply, filing away the name ' _Voldemort_ ' into his mental cabinet. "It could take a few hours, a few days...."

"Do not spend all your time here," Harry commented sagely, "You are only one man. There are able-bodied Ministry members that can assist you. Use their talents."

 _"I_ will do what I must to save our family." Riddle replied, determinedly as he escorted Harry to the door. "At all costs."

Harry gave him another sad smile, pale hand reaching for the doorknob.

"My parents did too. And I was raised an orphan." The man gave him another look which made Riddle's heart pause- "Just like you. Do not create a world of orphans in this war."

Riddle's shoulders, which had been locked forward, drooped at that thought. "I will do my best, Harry Potter."

"That is all anyone could ask for." the man replied.

 

"You are injured, my Lord," the man started, brown eyes flashing in concern.

"Obviously," scowled Tom Potter, standing in the doorway of the large house. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side, red skin exposed with rivulets of blood and clusters of blisters, "Have the others returned?" Without so much as waiting for a response, Tom strode through the door into the Manor, leaving the other man racing after him to continue speaking.

"All of our witches and wizards, my Lord, save Hestia and Marlene. Unfortunately, we lost the Muggles with us."

"They were useless in battle." Tom said bitterly, irritation tinging his voice, "At the sight of a dragon, they threw down their arms. I underestimated their ability to defend us and themselves. The Muggles are cowards."

"Perhaps we should limit our campaign to Muggleborns and sympathizers, my Lord?"

"It would seem that way," Tom mused, making his way through foyer, "Fortunately, none of the Muggles have any idea to our whereabouts, let alone our names. The Ministry will not find any information out from them."

"What about their leader? What shall we do with him?" the man pressed, "He still is a guest of our home."

"Get rid of him, Mr. Longbottom."

"My Lord." the man said, giving a stiff bow and departing from his leader's presence as Tom walked forward. Tom paused then, having found himself in the living room of the manor where an assembled group of witches and wizards sat waiting on chairs and sofas. They were murmuring amongst themselves, but at the approach of Tom Potter, they fell silent.

"My friends," Tom addressed them, waving his good arm to them.

"Friends?" scoffed a voice. Tom quickly snapped his head over to the culprit, but in the gloom of the room, it was hard to make out who had spoken.

"Do I sense dissent?" Tom replied, eyes scanning the room at the various faces, trying to make eye-contact with each witch and wizard in the room. "Doubters in our cause? By all means, stand forward, I am not here to judge."

An uncomfortable silence followed, as the occupants of the room drew quick breaths, scuffing foots across the floor in an indication of nervousness. But when Tom re-opened his mouth to re-address his followers, a junior wizard stepped forward. A splattering of red pimples ran across his cheeks, indicating his youth.

"Milord, nearly all of those who followed you today took significant risk to our identities and our livelihoods in the wizarding world."

"Agreed," Tom replied, rolling his shoulders habitually, "Continue."

"Well..." the boy paused, but at a supportive look from a nearby witch, he faced his leader again. "We no longer want that type of publicity, Milord, you must understand. There's too much risk to ourselves and our families being associated as group of dangerous protesters."

"You are worried that you will be identified, ostracized, and jailed then?" Tom finished, not waiting for the answer he knew was coming, "Need I remind you of what we are working for? All of us, together, to overthrow this sham Ministry and erect a new one?"

"Milord-"

"And in by doing so, you will be publicly identified. No longer will the Ministry be an aloof set of appointed officials whom hide behind anti-Muggle legislations and push quills across desks to ensure our compliance. So I ask you, what do you expect your position to be, if not as an open supporter of our movement? Do you feel _shame_? Or are you simply revealing your cowardice?"

The younger man shut his mouth, but his eyes flashed in anger, shoulders locking back to stare up into Tom Potter's equivalently sardonic smile.

"By all means, continue," Tom said, lazily waving his hand. "I would like to know more about how craven you are."

The boy scowled, flushing, "I mean no disrespect," he said in a bitter tone, "I only mean to tell you-"

"Ah, and now you presume to command me." Potter concluded. The smile vanished, replaced with a dangerous look. "Very soon we will be in full-scale war. It is inevitable. But before that day comes, I will know of your loyalty.”

The boy, frustrated, took a challenging step forward, “Perhaps new leadership is needed, Milord, if you aren’t willing.” The boy’s hand went to his pocket, and Tom sucked in a reactionary breath of air.

With a sudden _SLASH,_ his basilisk fang dagger cut the flesh of his follower’s arm..

 “Milord…” The boy gasped and fell to the ground, his hand clutching to his now fatal wound on his upper arm. A paper tumbled from his hand, forgotten.

Tom, without looking, neatly re-holstered his dagger

"I will not suffer disloyalty." Tom said, addressing the room as if nothing had occurred, "I have been betrayed far too many times to grant leniency. For if I cannot have your utter loyalty, then you are useless. And uselessness is equivalent to worthlessness. In this, you have two options from this point: you either ride the wave or be crushed underneath."

He stalked from the room; his party’s members giving him a large breadth of space. He winced as the burn score rubbed against his clothing. As he left the room, he felt a sense of encroaching dread churning in his gut.

_I just killed a man._

He shook his head, wincing again at the pain from the burns and bloodied tracks on his face. Pacing down the hallway, he longed to find to place to sit, and suffer his pain in silence. But his brain was racing, trying to justify the moment's events.  
  
_He was my enemy. All who are not with me are my enemies._

Tom Potter made down the hallway until he approached a lengthy mirror, showing his full visage.  
_Sacrifices must be made...it is for the greater good._

He saw his appearance. Rugged, gaunt, and fire-scored, but the face that stared back reminded him of his opposition.

_Minister Riddle will likewise meet a sticky end._

And for some strange reason, he felt more determined than ever.

 

_"When you play the Game of Thrones, you win or you die." -Cersei Lannister_

 Sources:

_Quidditch teams:_

<https://www.hp-lexicon.org/thing/ministry-of-magic/department-of-games/british-and-irish-quidditch-league/>

_James Potter:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/James_Potter_I>

_Mask inspiration:_

<http://vignette1.wikia.nocookie.net/samuraijack/images/3/36/High_Priestess.png/revision/latest?cb=20170312232409>

_Hungarian Horntail:_

<http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/Hungarian_Horntail>

_Ministry of Magic:_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ministry_of_Magic>

<https://en.wikibooks.org/wiki/Muggles%27_Guide_to_Harry_Potter/Major_Events/Order_of_the_Phoenix>


	23. Chapter 23

“Please sit, my Lord, and remove your outer garment. I will fetch my things.”

The Light Lord, Tom Potter, sat down on the chair as Alice Longbottom walked to the far side of the room. A few weeks had passed since his encounter with Tom Riddle and his Ministry, and his wounds needed tending. While not an actual healer, Frank Longbottom’s wife was proficient enough in herbal skills to attend to him. The Dawn Breaker explained as she unpacked her things,

“As an Auror, we were instructed the medicinal uses of herbs and plants to treat wounds on the battlefield. I will use a paste to help with your scarring and blistering, and alleviate any residual scaring redness. While I am nowhere good as a trained Healer, I am-“

“Good enough,” Tom Potter finished for her, feeling an irritated tinge. He did not wish to think of Aurors, trained or otherwise. The Longbottoms were both loyal to him, and yet, he begrudged them in their successful completion and training.

_Unlike me._

Scowling, Potter removed his coat, gingerly sliding it off from his left arm. It still burned as if the fire was licking it as he sat.

_Bloody dragon._

He hadn’t given the beast much thought, consumed with rage at Tom Riddle’s interference in his grand destiny. An unruly Animagus? He hadn’t studied it close enough.

“Nasty thing, Horntails-“Alice was saying, as if she had read his mind, “My cousin works with a dragon keeper in Romania. He is always writing me the wildest stories about them, how Horntails are aggressive in protecting their mates, and are downright vicious when defending their young-“

“A mate,” echoed Tom Potter. Alice returned with several jars of salves and ointments.

“I’ve met the keeper as well. Smart man, if a little odd. A half-giant named Rubeus Hagrid. He’s quite passionate about the beasts.”

“Small world,” muttered the Light Lord.

“The odd thing was with the Horntail that attacked us, was its- “She sucked in a breath as she observed Tom’s now visible arm, “My Lord, it really would be best if you sought professional medical attention. It is healing poorly.”

“A reminder, then. I shall not be so foolish to be caught off guard again.”

Alice shook her head. Tom Potter’s burned arm was a mix of white scar-tissue, with purpling scars wrapping around the pale skin. Some blisters had healed, but the larger ones still were knitting together, crusting with yellow pus. The Auror, unruffled by the sight of blood, still gave Tom a despairing look-

“My Lord, this appears infected-“

“I will not ask you again.” Tom warned her.

Alice Longbottom sighed, but she stopped her persistence. The woman took a cool rag, dipped it into one of the salves, and began to neatly dress and clean the oozing wounds. “As I was saying, it was an odd beast. The scale color wasn’t abnormal, they have variations. But I remember quite distinctly from my cousin’s research is that all Horntails have yellow eyes.”

The auror removed the rag, as a new fissure of blood pried open from an old scab, and dotted the seat the Light Lord was posed on. Alice frowned, but instead took out a bandage, and began wrapping the mottled arm. “This should help compress the wound, at the very least. I would recommend, my Lord, to continue to drink the potion brewed by Dearborn. He insists that it will promote healing.”

“Hm.”

“Now for your facial abrasions…”

“So terrible my visage must be.”

“Not as bad as your arm, My Lord,” Alice said, unthinkingly, “I will remove your bandages, and we shall observe to see if the scratches have healed.”

 _She is far too comfortable with me._ Tom did not like this. _She is not my equal_.

Alice went to her Lord’s eyebrow, to remove the taped bandages. Tom snapped hands around her wrist. “Tell me, Alice,” he said, his voice dripping with warning, “What do you plan for the future with your husband?”

Alice froze in mid-air, held by her wrists. “Living in a world where we can be free of persecution with our family.”

“And for the sake of this ‘future family,’ I suggest you keep your opinions to yourself. You do not presume to command me on the status of my health. As you said yourself, you are not a Healer. Nor are you second-in-command. I advise you to tread carefully.”

“My Lord.” She responded, stiffly. Tom Potter glared pointedly at her, and then released both of her hands, allowing her to continue to attend him. Alice narrowed her eyes, but then with a quick jerk, removed Tom Potter’s head bandages. Tom finally felt cool air on his eye, which had been covered under bandages.

“A mirror,” he ordered.

Longbottom turned to her side, and procured a nearby mirror. She held it out to the Light Lord, who took it in his hands, and held it up for his review.

It was not as terrible as he thought. Three large slash marks began above the eyebrow, and cut down to his cheek. The slashes were white-pink, suggesting that unlike his arm, they had mended more quickly. But in a way, he preferred it.

 _Now, I do not look like Tom Riddle._ The disfigurement, while being that, gave him a new edge. Another visage to gaze upon, not the one he dreaded every day- “You are dismissed.”

“To the new Dawn.” she saluted.

“To Victory,” Tom echoed. Longbottom began to walk to door, but Tom Potter spoke again.

“Longbottom, what color was the dragon’s eyes?”

The Dawn Breaker paused in the doorway, her shoulders still locked forward. She lifted hesitant eyes to his, but answered him all the same:

“Green, my Lord.”

_No._

The door shut behind her. Tom Potter, still seated, began to shake in realization.

_He…he hurt me._

Now he had the mirror held close to his face, looking in horror. He had been mutilated. His arm blasted and burned, his eye near torn off. The dragon had tried to kill him.

_No, not a dragon._

Something in him cried in fear.

_No no no._

A young boy with a man who was a monster.

_He said he would protect me._

“Harry…” he whimpered then, alone in his room. “Why…?” He hugged himself then, as if to deny what he had seen. “Why would you hurt me?!”

 _But he had known…_ He had been deluding himself these past weeks, unwilling to believe that Harry Potter would ever do such a thing. But he had seen the neon eyes, seen the black scales, and he had known that was him, that the beast was protecting its-

_Tom Riddle._

“It’s… it’s always him,” Tom’s eyes were full of tears now.

_Harry tried to kill me!_

The Light Lord was openly crying now, “He... he tried to kill me! For Tom Riddle!” He choked with sobs, with heartbreak and sorrow. An echo of the child he had been, lost from the man who had raised him, protected, fed, and-

But as it had been, his sadness fueled to anger.

“It’s always Tom Riddle. IT IS ALWAYS HIM!” the man screamed.

The vials, baubles, and other objects of any delicate means smashed in the room, liquids exploding and staining into the floor. The sink overflowed, the lights flickered, and vials smashed on the floor. A powerful burst of magic-and the healing room was destroyed, leaving only Tom Potter standing in the room, half-crazed, half-broken, all man.

And his scars that marred his face bled; covering him in a curse of hate.

 

_1981_

The time flew by, as it was. Riddle, despite his aurors and his best efforts, could not pin down Tom Potter or his followers. Still, there would be periods of quiet, followed by bouts of sporadic violence. It was, in the Minister's mind, unpredictable.

"Perhaps we are winning," Tom Riddle concluded over the chess board. He had convinced Harry Potter to visit him in London, where they were playing a game of wizard's chess and imbibing firewhiskey. Thankfully, Riddle was winning, elsewise he may have been on the floor incapacitated with alcohol. The stuff seemed not to affect Harry at all, who continued to drink as if it were water.

"No, you aren't." Potter sighed as he observed his knight fall to Riddle's Queen. He reached over the table, where the firewhiskey was propped up, and took another swig.

"I imagine this would be much more fun if you were actually under the influence," Tom Riddle commented, "You should be intoxicated. Or dead from the amount of liquor you have drunk."

Harry shrugged, and returned the bottle. "As I was saying, you are not winning. There's been unrest in Godric's Hollow. Bathilda says she lays incantations every night on her door. She fears the war will spill out there."

“Just her?”

“My family as well,” Harry said, “According to her, they were invited by the Dawn Breakers to join their movement. She said they turned them away. I worry for them.”

"It would make sense," Riddle said thoughtfully. At Harry's gloomy stare, he groaned, leaning towards the bottle and took a swig of the firewhiskey himself, "But then again, it wouldn't."

"Why do you say that?"

"Old family lines live in Godric’s Hollow. Plenty are loyal to the Ministry." Riddle stretched, placing the bottle back in its rightful place alongside the chessboard. "And Tom knows you're there. That's a deterrent. He'd never do anything with you around."

Harry stared at the table. "About that, Tom."

Riddle did not like the tone of voice, and his casual facade melted away. "What is it, Harry?"

The winged man sighed, and at the exhale of unnecessary oxygen, his black wings stretched out to full span, and retreated. Riddle, having spent enough time with Harry Potter, knew this was a sign of anxiety.

"I received a letter from Tom."

Riddle scowled, but at Harry's despondent look, he reduced his visage to a plaintive look. The man held out his hand in a beckoning gesture. "I know you brought it."

Harry reached into the pocket of his black trousers and withdrew a letter. Riddle immediately reached out for it, but Potter slapped his hand away. Riddle let forth a curse, but Harry shook his head.

"It's enchanted. I imagine if anyone but me touched it, it could lead to...ill-results."

The man opened the parchment and laid it flat against the board. The chess pieces, or what was left of them, shook tiny fists as they were displaced. The symbol of the Light Lord, the sickle and wand, was printed in gold at the top, and the written script was clearly Tom Potter's writing.

The letters on the paper gleamed a warning green, but then settled into black. _That would be the enchantment._

The letter read:

_Harry Potter-_

_You once spoke to me of a Dark Lord. Well, like most of your worthless predictions, no one has come to take the place of Gellert Grindelwald and challenge me for supremacy in the Wizarding World. However, after careful observation, detail, and thought over the years, it has led me to deduce that the future Dark Lord was never Grindelwald, nor a secret. It is, in fact, Tom Marvolo Riddle._

Riddle flicked his grey eyes up from reading to lock with neon. The eyes stared back emotionlessly, but flicked back down the paper, encouraging Riddle to read more:

_This is unsurprising, given the amount of wasted time and protection you have given to him. Not only that, but he is the Heir of Slytherin, and represents the very reprehensible traits prized by Salazar Slytherin and his so called 'noble house.' While it is surprising he has yet to reveal his true colours and has yet to drive the Ministry into a dictatorship, I warn you that he is my enemy. By supporting him with your ongoing relationship, so are you._

"Bloody bastard." snapped Riddle

_Stay out of my way and out of my life. If we should cross paths again, know that I will exact the same punishment on you as I would him. Tomorrow belongs to me._

At that, the parchment began to shake. Riddle whipped out his wand in defense, but the parchment did not strike. Instead, it flipped over, and words began printing themselves on the back. Harry's wings flapped in surprise.

_As I knew you could not resist sharing this information, I too have a warning for you, Tom Marvolo Riddle. Our movement has risen to new heights, and you will no longer be able hold onto the future where you dominate our world. Make no mistake- it matters not that we are blood-kin. You are the Dark Lord prophesized to rise. The one I am destined to vanquish._

_The rivers are fast- as are we. Look to the new dawn that approaches._

_Light Lord_

"He still insists on calling himself the Light Lord. Ridiculous," spat Riddle, "An idiotic title."

"The Rivers are fast..." Harry repeated. His neon eyes fixated on the sentence. "It's a clue."

"Well it’s a stupid one.” Riddle retorted. “He means Leeds.”

“Leeds?” Harry inquired, raising his head from the parchment. “How do you know?”

Riddle shrugged. “I read, Potter. It’s an old name.” Sensing he was no closer to winning the game, and the tenseness that had developed in the room since reading Tom’s bizarre letter, he began to fold up the chess set.

“Let me help,” Harry offered. With a half-grunt from Riddle, the winged man rose to his feet, gathering scattered pieces aligned to the chessboard.

“I think Tom’s lost control of his senses, to be honest.” Riddle said as the final chess piece was enclosed in the board, “This message is meant to send us on a scavenger hunt for him. I will address it and be done with him and his lunacy.”

“How?” Harry inquired.

“By giving him what he always wants. Attention.” He stared intensely at Harry then. “Perhaps you could accompany me.”

Harry shook his head. “If you face him, you face him alone. I nearly killed him once. I will not fight him.”

Riddle, loathe as he would admit, could use Harry Potter’s abilities. But Harry’s reluctance since that Quidditch match had kept him out of the politics of arresting Tom Potter. But no matter. He was Minister for Magic. Outwitting Tom Potter was his specialty.

“There are other ways of dealing with Tom,” Harry said gently, interrupting his thoughts. “Perhaps you should consider them?”

“All of them involve Potter standing trial, I fear... and the potential of life in Azkaban.” Tom Riddle rose to his feet from the now closed game.

“A life in Azkaban…” Harry repeated, his face downtrodden, “Tom, that’s no life at all.”

“Hopefully it does not come to that.” _Lying doesn’t suit me._ Riddle thought to himself, bitterly.

“I would escort you to Godric’s Hollow, but for this plan to work, I must leave immediately for the Ministry. Tom is not one to wait. He will have already acted. And if he is half as foolhardy as he’s become, he will be in custody by tomorrow morning.”

“Stay safe.” Harry said. “Do not harm him.” Harry had a faraway look in his eye.

“I’ll see you in Godric’s Hollow then.” Riddle dressed himself quickly. “Feel free to leave when you like.”

“Stay in an empty flat?” Harry gave an odd smile. “No. I’m going home.”

And with that, he was gone.

 

Minister Riddle entered into the chaos that was the Ministry of Magic with an authoritative stroll.

“Report,” he said bluntly, as a crowd of Aurors mixed with Ministry employees encroached on his personal space.

“Minister,” he heard Rookwood voice start from the crowd, “There’s been a disturbance in-“

“Yes, Leeds, I know.” The stunned faces from within the small crowd betrayed their surprise. Riddle continued on without a beat- “Aware of it. Who is on the ground?”

“Team Rumblehorn. Led by Rufus Scrimgeour.”

“Bright lad,” Riddle commented, approvingly. “What’s their status?”

“Awaiting the remainder of our force. There has been a sighting of the Light Lord…” Rookwood trailed off, and the crowd began dispersing, with apologetic mutters.

Unfortunately, over the years it had become too hard for both Toms to withhold the identity of the Light Lord. Those re-educated witches and wizards that had either spied for the Ministry or begged for a second chance had sung their traitorous song of their Master.

Thankfully, due to Riddle’s full commitment to the Ministry and reputation in society, the news hadn’t tarnished his office, nor left him seeking another full-time position.

“Very well. Send our forces there. Create a spell-barrier to prevent him from escaping.”

Perhaps that was why his personal life had diminished. He had fully invested himself into capturing the Light Lord and proving himself worthy of his office. Riddle had felt guilt all these years.

_For himself, or for Potter?_

That, he did not know.

_Leeds, United Kingdom_

_The fire of revolution are bright tonight_ ; Tom Potter mused.

He had come a long way since that very first campaign he had made as the Light Lord. While he was not as close to his goals as he had wished, he had come a realization.

He could not defeat Tom Riddle as it was. The man surrounded himself with loyal supporters in the Ministry, and despite Potter’s best efforts, supporters for the Light Lord were still in the minority, and dwindling every day.

_And the matter of Harry Potter…._

His former guardian remained a threat. With time and shape-changing abilities, to name a few; the fact remained that Tom only remained in power was due to his elusiveness, and Harry Potter’s reluctance to act.

The years had passed, but the time had come for what he understood needed to happen. His reign could end with Harry or Riddle’s interference.

_They must be dealt with. For the greater good._

Something itched at his memory.

The Light Lord suddenly looked up from the flames, looking over towards one of his lieutenants who waved another fiery spurt into the growing fire. “What day is it?” he demanded, turning to Caradoc Dearborn.

Dearborn informed him. The Light Lord returned his gaze to the fire, observing the cracking and snapping of wood as the home burned. The man then took a step backwards from the inferno, drawing forth his wand. He sent a bolt of light into the sky. His mark now hung in the air, a golden scythe crossed with a wand.

“There is something I must do, Caradoc. Take the others to the Longbottom manor. I will return later this evening.”

Without another word, Tom faced away from Dearborn and the other assembled, and vanished, only his mark remaining, tattooed in the sky.

 

Scrimgeour scowled as the remainder of the Ministry forces Apparated, flew, or all but blew themselves up into pieces arriving into Leeds. His strike team, too small to contend with the Light Lord and his followers, had waited for reinforcements.

“Bloody fools, we’ve been waiting near an hour!” The expert Auror wrung his hands in suppressed irritation, “Potter’ll be gone by then, if not his whole army!”

“Apologies, sir-“

“Save it for someone who cares!” barked Rufus. “Follow my lead!”

The Ministry sped to the burning flames. But the great battle was postponed. For as Rufus had predicted, the Dawn Breakers had all but left.

However, the home-owners were in a panic, as magic induced-flames burned their dwellings. Unlike typical fires, no amount of water would be able to be able to stop the flames.

This wasn’t an attack… this was a distraction. One they could not ignore, as a magical fire would burn for weeks if not contained.

_This was meant to hold up…._

Scrimgeour roared to a nearby Auror, “Send a Patronus to the Ministry. NOW!”

 

_October 31st 1981,_ _Godric's Hollow_

Harry landed elegantly in yard, his great wings flapping upwards, then slowly folding backwards as he righted himself on his feet.

The lights of the two-story home were on. A small broom lay haphazardly against the wall of the home, small plastic toys littering the yard. He tread softly until he approached the back entrance, and paused on the steps. His eyes trailed to the bottom of the door.

The man swallowed, lifting his eyes to the door's bronze handle, feeling the burden of what he knew he must do.

"I'm sorry, Mum and Dad." he whispered.

He aimed his fist and slammed it into the door. The door ricocheted backwards with a tremendous slam. He did not have wait long.

James Potter came down the stairs first, wand extended.

" _Expelliarmus_!" He cast.

Harry only blurred his image and reappeared behind him. He sent out his arm, though much more gently than he had treated the door. The bone of his forearm collided with the back of the man's head with a WHACK. James Potter slumped to the floor, stunned. Harry bent down, reaching a pale hand out to the wand lying in his father's limp hand.

"James!" cried a voice from the stairs.

A beautiful woman with long red hair stood poised halfway towards the top of the stairs. She looked in the midst of climbing towards one of the above rooms, but had shouted at her husband's fall.

Harry did not give her the chance to move. " _Stupefy_!" he commanded, extending his father's wand.

The wand obeyed, sending a bright red light spiraling towards Lily Potter. She fell backwards on the stairs, hair fanning out like a halo. Harry lowered his wand, feeling tears trickle down from his green and black eyes.

He ascended the steps slowly, gingerly stepping around the stunned woman. His black wingtips brushed her forehead. _She had been wandless_ , Harry noticed. In her haste to impede him, she had run up the stairs, foregoing her own safety to protect...         

Harry's inhuman eyes locked on the centremost door.

 

Tom Riddle paced the floor of the Ministry, wringing his hands in agitation. "Where the blazes is the Light Lord?" He demanded.

"Sir, we have tracked his location to Godric's Hollow."

Tom Riddle swore. "How many can we send to intercept him?"

"Only two, Minister," A nervous intern replied, "The majority of our force is still containing the incident in Leeds."

Knowing Tom, he had likely planned this. Riddle cursed.

“We have tracked him midway between your alternate address, Minister, and the Potters.”

"Send the aurors to the Potter's residence." He drew his own wand.

"Sir?" squeaked the intern.  

Riddle did not spare him a glance. "To the Potters. _Now._ I am going to 13 Lavenham place. Send them there if they do not find him."

 

Harry approached the crib, his electric eyes locked on the small, sleeping form of a baby half wrapped in a muted gold blanket.

He looked to his father's wand, still held tightly in pale hand. He pointed it towards the crib, aiming as the infant let out a small sniffle in his sleep. _I must end this_.

Harry had denied all these years of his own mortality, but had come to understand there was only one way he could save Tom Potter.

_And what had begun in violence, would end in violence._

Harry began to shake, slowly lowering the wand until he dropped it to the ground. No. He would not murder an infant in the same way that had nearly been done to him. And not with his father's wand.

_Even if the infant was himself._

He frowned, extending his hand forwards towards the baby's upturned chest. He would do as he had done to the great Basilisk. He would slow the heart until it stopped beating. It would be kinder this way. 

Harry took an unnecessary, deep breath. The air uselessly expanded his chest. He wondered at committing this, would he be ultimately condemning the world to another, different Dark Lord? How would time reset itself?

There was no time to decide. He could only act. To stop Tom Potter’s descent, he would end it before he would have the chance to start it. His cool palm extended on the baby's chest. It let out a squirm of discomfort and kicked tiny legs out to dislodge the cold hand.

Harry spread his black wings then, tears falling freely once more as he concentrated on the baby's heartbeat. It was fluttering under his palm. He began to count slowly, willing the heart to slow.

That was when the dagger plunged into his back.

 

Riddle bounded the stairs of the old home, wand raised in preparation of defending himself.        

"Harry? Tom!" He barked.                              

No answer. He flung the doors of the three bedrooms open. Tom's room. Harry's room. And the room that had been made for him.                

All three were empty. He swore.

Riddle made his way down the stairs, walking through the kitchen. The room had a fine layer of dust on every inch of the place. As he stepped though, a small spider skittered across the floor, drawn out by the movement. He longed to crush it with his foot to combat his rising temper. Instead, he paced over to the garden door.

The garden was empty. The table and chairs were stacked in the corner of the yard, a black layer of mold coating the legs of the furniture.

The flowers that Tom Potter had so cared for in his youth had sometime withered and died. All that remained where their withered stalks. Riddle stared at them, an unnamed emotion digging into him. Tom had always cared for those flowers. The symbolism was not lost on him.

_So much has changed._

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of a glimmering tortoise Patronus, which gave a bound to his feet. The reptile's voice rolled out in the intern's voice, coming out panicked.

" ** _The Aurors at the Potters are dead_."**

 

Harry writhed around the blade, gasping as the pointed tip came out of his chest, sending black blood splattering to the ground.

 _A basilisk fang..._ he thought dismally. There was only one man with a basilisk fang dagger.

"Tom," he whimpered. The man then embraced Harry from behind.

"Trying to stop me, Harry Potter?" he hissed in his ear.

Harry gasped, sending his black wings open to send Tom Potter flying into a nearby wall. But it was far too late. He staggered to the ground, pale hands scrabbling around the blade in an attempt to pull it out.

"That really hurt you," said Tom, rising to his feet and watching him in detached interest. "Are you dying? I thought you were the master of death. You are the master of nothing."

"You know as well as I do what it means to be master of death. " Harry wheezed. "It's acceptance."

"Like I'm just supposed to accept the status quo? My rejection at the ministry? Or do you just want me to accept your relationship with Tom Riddle?" The man stared at him hatefully. "It's always been that way with you- The Harry Potter way, or no way at all."

"Tom..." said Harry, reaching a black-bloodied hand out. "Please..."

"Oh I'll do more than that." The man bent down, took Harry's crouched form in his arms, and let his hand grasp the hilt from where it was protruding from the back. With a vicious tug, the knife was removed, sending more black blood dripping to the ground.

A gaping hole was now in Harry's chest, a likely result from the basilisk venom imbued in the fang. Tom wiped the black blood off the blade on the floor, re-pocketing the dagger carefully in his robes.

"I just saved your life," Tom said, casting a look up to the infant in the crib. "You should be thanking me."

"You don't understand..." choked Harry.

"No, I don't. Nor do I want to, nor do I care to. Not anymore. I am tired of trying to understand. In fact, I think it's better if the world tries understanding _me_ a little more. " His eyes then focused on the gaping hole in Harry's chest.

"What is that?" he said, squinting his eyes in scrutiny in the center of the dribbling black blood. "Is that...a stone?"

"Tom, don't-" Harry started, but howled in pain when Tom dug his hand into the gaping cavern that was his chest. Tom tugged, ripped, and pulled out a black, gleaming stone. It had a large crack running through it. He inspected it, fingers wiping a smear of blood to reveal a small symbol etched in it.

"Is this... _the Resurrection stone_?" the man said incredulously. "Was this what kept you alive?"

Harry bowed his head to the ground, pale arms keeping himself upright. His body had begun to shake.

"Interesting," said Tom, rising to his feet to stand over the fallen man. He inspected the stone, then pocketed it in his robes.

"I suppose I should leave you with some grandiose speech, but honestly Harry Potter, I do not have time for you anymore. I don't need you, I don't need the Ministry, and I especially don't need Tom Riddle."

"What do you want?" Harry said, squeezing his eyes in pain as a spasm wracked his body.

"What do I want? Change."

Harry heard him walk away, and he slumped to the floor in a pool of his own black blood.

 

Tom Riddle ran to the front of the Potter's home, standing outside the brown gate.

"Tom?" He barked, "Harry?"

Silence. He opened the gate, to reveal...

_The aurors._

Tom knelt down to them, respectfully closing their eyes. A pang rang through him. He had sent them to their deaths. "You died in sacrifice to your country and kin," he said over their strewn forms. "Thank you."

Riddle rose to his feet and entered the Potter home. He saw the unconscious form of James Potter lying on the ground. Tom supposed he should wake him, but he had only the desire to find one man that night.

He ascended the staircase, likewise passing the slumped form of Lily Potter. He inspected her, and found her likewise breathing. After that, Tom Riddle reached the top of the staircase, seeing the door of the middle room had been thrown wide open.

Riddle swallowed reflexively, remembering the vision he had seen of Harry's room when he had been young man in the Chamber of Secrets. Now he was an older man, Minister for Magic, but he felt the same high emotions coursing through him once more. Tom Riddle walked into the room.

Harry Potter was lying on the ground, on his back. A pale arm was flung over his chest, as if trying to cover up the huge, gaping black hole.

"No.." Tom Riddle began shake violently from where he was frozen in the doorway, “HARRY!"

The infant, disturbed by the noise, began to cry in earnest. Harry cracked a neon eye open from his position on the floor.

"Tom.." he said, giving a cough.

Riddle sunk to his knees, scooping him in his arms. "Hold on Potter, I am going to get you out of here."

Harry only sighed, but wrapped his arms around Tom's neck as he lifted him, bridal style. The wings flapped limply against him, long black feathers beginning to float off and fall to the ground.

"I'll take you to St. Mungos-" Riddle said hurriedly.

"Outside." Harry shook his head. "I want to go outside."

"But-"

"Outside. Hurry."

Tom Riddle carried Harry out of the room, stepping carefully past the man's parents, until they were at the back door of the home. A trail of black feathers followed them, continuing to fall from Tom's arms.

Tom pushed the door open with his foot, a cool breeze slipping in. The yard was dark, but Riddle, comfortable in the gloom, made his way out to the centre of the yard with relative ease.

"Put me down." Harry then said. The feathers began to molt now, creating a feathering pile beneath him.  The two men sank to the ground. A light rain began to fall. 

Tom Riddle held Harry in his arms, surrounded by the growing sea of strewn black feathers. Black blood was seeping out of every available orifice it seemed. His eyes, his nose, his mouth....the gaping hole in his chest.

"Tom..." Harry weakly intoned. Riddle shook his head furiously.

"Don't talk." He brought his wand to Harry's chest. "I'm going to heal you. Then we are going to St. Mungos."

Harry gave a wan smile, which then elicited a wet cough. He took a shaky breath after he had done so, which had the effect of dribbling more black blood from his mouth. Tom flinched.                         

"It's… too late. I....should have died...a long time ago. "

A shudder wracked his smaller body, causing Tom to cling to him even more. An ugly sensation was making itself known in his stomach. _This wasn't supposed to be happening._

"Don't say that." Riddle said, wetting his lips.

Harry closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a breath. Suddenly Tom was staring at his throat in awe. He was breathing. Tom had never seen him _breathe_ before.           

"Harry..."

Harry's eyes lifted to gaze pensively into his own. Another weak inhale.

Riddle stared in wonder. The black sclera he had normally associated with Harry's eyes was gone. A normal white colour had taken its place, which had the odd effect of subduing the normally neon green eyes to a muted jade colour. Tom Riddle had only ever seen this behind the frames of glasses.

The black blood originating from his eyes and mouth had begun to change as well. It was now morphing colors, the beginning trail of blood now seeping red. Tom traced a finger to the corner of Harry's eye in morbid fascination.

"Take it." Harry wheezed.

Tom reached into his ministry coat, drawing forth a small vial. He gently dabbed at the corner of Harry's eyes, collecting the small rivulets of blood. After he had collected half the vials' worth, he pulled his hand away and re-pocketed it.

Harry's eyes were starting to shut. Tom Riddle's heart was thundering in his chest.

"No...no...no. Harry don't do this." He shook the smaller body, becoming more panicked, "Don't you dare."

"I'm... so tired, Tom."

"But...Potter...Tom...The Light Lord... _Whatever_ he is calling himself now is still out there. I need your assistance." Tom Riddle's hand had somehow found Harry's own, entwining their fingers together, "you are the only one who understands him, you could reason with him, you-"

"Failed him." finished Harry gently. "I was so consumed...by my own self.... I neglected him...terribly. " Another cough.

"You _raised_ him," defended Riddle, but Harry only closed his eyes in a display of regret.

"I kept him...in the dark... on many things. Things ....that should... have been said..about..his.."

Harry's body then seized in a spasm, and Tom Riddle let out an involuntary cry. He hugged him to his chest. Tom breathed in his scent- the musky damp of his clothes, the metallic tang of his blood, his sweat, the cleanness of the falling rain.

He took his hand from Harry's own to gently support his head, which was drifting backwards.  Riddle placed a chaste kiss to his forehead, on that scar, drifting in a sea of agony of his own unsaid things.

"I... loved him... ." Harry said, eyes drifting closed, his voice far and away. "How he.... made me... _feel_."

"Tom?" Riddle asked quietly.

"His...father..." breathed Harry.

Green eyes opened to meet bewildered grey one last time.

"Tom...

save ...our...

... _son_."

And thus did Harry James Potter depart from that life.

Tom Riddle held his mortal form and wept.

 

The Light Lord sat upon his obsidian throne, a discontented look on his face. "So you are saying to me that it is impossible to locate one Minister Riddle?"

"We don't know where the minister is." one of his newer servants ventured, giving a nervous bow. "We are trying our best."

"There is trying, and then there is doing, all of which I find is severely lacking these days,” he snapped, gripping his wand tightly in his hand. "Go now, and do not return unless there is news of his capture."

The Light Lord reclined in his seat as the doors clanked shut at his servants’ dismissal. This was maddening. Having bested his former guardian in battle mere hours ago had left him troubled. This led to the now all consuming need to _deal_ with the problem of the Minister for Magic.

He supposed he ought to feel remorse for contemplating slaying Tom Riddle, his kin, but he merely felt a grim sense of satisfaction at the idea of watching him fall. _It's for the greater good._

Gellert Grindelwald had failed in the simple notion of a world where magic wielders reigned supreme to the non magical. Tom Potter did not want this world. Being Muggleborn himself, he saw no reason for this exclusive disharmony.

In fact, he wanted an idealized society. Wizard and Muggle aligned to better the world. Equality across the board- the old ideals of class and segregation at an end. By eradicating these malcontents- restructuring the government, replacing it with like-minded people, he could make a better world for everyone.

No more wars, no more hiding. It would be perfect.

He laughed in delight at his thoughts in the dimness of the chamber, raising himself from the dais. He would be this world's messiah-purifying the world in this modern crusade.

A celebratory drink was needed, he felt. Soon Tom Riddle and all those who had likewise opposed him would be eliminated, and that was a satisfying thought.

He exited the audience hall, and turned down a corridor of the estate. He eyed the paintings of several generations of the Longbottom family as he passed the dusty furniture scattered haphazardly through manor. The paintings, for the most part, either gave him a polite bow or a curious stare.

 _Yes. That's how it should be._ thought Tom. _Respect._

He approached the door to his own room, raising his hand to push open the mahogany door. But as he was doing so, a burning sensation erupted from his left thigh. He let out a swear at the unexpected pain, and snapped his hand down to address the matter.

His hand found itself in his pocket, grasping the offending object. Tom grit his teeth at the encountered heat, and snapped his fingers around it, flinging it to the ground.

It was the Resurrection stone.

The stone he had taken and pocketed after his battle against Harry Potter. It was still fully cracked open, but now on closer observation, he could see a reddish light glowing from its core, the likely source of the heat.

Tom frowned, and then shrugged his shoulders, his long fingers grasping his wand to point down at the stone. No matter. He would destroy it now, as he had no use for it, nor was he about to keep any mementos of his guardian.

He fumbled for a spell, but he was unable to do so as the stone suddenly pulsed. It flew into the air, hovering a mere inch in front of Tom's nose.

Tom narrowed his eyes, pointing his wand directly at the offending object. " _REDUCTO_!"  His wand spat the spell, but it harmlessly passed through the stone, colliding into a nearby hideously paisley sofa. It burst into feathers.

Tom scowled, lowering his wand. The stone continue to hover. "Well?" he addressed it.

And suddenly his world was _agony._

He fell to his knees as he felt what felt like the Cruciatus magnified race throughout his body. The stone continued to pulse with that red light, but Tom was in no state of mind to care. He writhed on the ground, howling out obscenities and cries of pain.

 _Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop_ became the mantra in his head.

The stone glowed a brighter red, and Tom rolled onto his back, chest heaving in exertion. A brief pause in the pain. He felt dizzy and bile was prickling at the back of his throat. The man made to stand once more.

And then the stone _buried itself in his chest._

"AUGH!" he shrieked, the penetration of the burning object reverberating in his ribcage. Tom uselessly scrabbled his hands over his heart, trying to find a means to pull it out. But it was unnecessary- for mere moments passed when it ripped out of him, glowing red and vibrant and whole.

Tom moaned as it gently lowered to the floor. It began to pulse a softer light, then faded back into black stone. But then an involuntary spasm of his back muscles had him arching forwards. A ripping of flesh was heard.

Tom Potter lay gasping on the ground, his eyes glinting- the white sclera bleeding into black.

As his breaths slowed and then finally stopped, he struggled to his feet. He slowly raised his head to stare out in front of him.  A quiet rustling noise, and two true, midnight, _black_ wings extended out into the darkness of the hallway.

And the Light Lord laughed in exultation, delighting in his new-found power.

 

Sources:

_Alice Longbottom_

https://harrypotter.fandom.com/wiki/Alice_Longbottom

_The Resurrection Stone:_

<https://i.ytimg.com/vi/gOSL0pYuoAI/maxresdefault.jpg>

_Tom Stabs Harry: Inspired by Star Wars: The Force Awakens (2015)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yw-PFWJDObI>

_Harry's Death_ **:** _Inspired by the "Death of Cedric," soundtrack, Harry Potter and Goblet of Fire (2005)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ceBGgqUXaIc>

_Tears:_

<http://scifi.stackexchange.com/questions/7269/how-were-snapes-tears-able-to-have-pensieve-abilities>

_"Consumed by hatred" inspired by the film Maleficent (2014)_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aNy7T0uJxLE>

_Tom Riddle "wept"_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jesus_wept>


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter Warning: Implied Sexual Content; Dubious Consent. 

_[Obi-Wan's spirit approaches Luke]_

_Luke: Ben! Why didn't you tell me? You told me that Darth Vader betrayed and murdered my father._

_Obi-Wan: Your father... was seduced by the Dark Side of the Force. He ceased to be the Jedi Anakin Skywalker and "became" Darth Vader. When that happened, the good man who was your father was destroyed. So, what I told you was true... from a certain point of view._

_Luke: A certain point of view?_

_Obi-Wan: Luke, you're going to find that many of the truths we cling to depend greatly on our own point of view._

_Episode VI - Star Wars- Return of the Jedi (1983)_

 

Tom Riddle left Godric's Hollow with Harry's body wrapped in his coat.

He Apparated as soon as they were far away enough from the house, reappearing in one of the small flats Tom had when he had first left Hogwarts. He hadn't been back in years, but his accrued wealth (in part thanks to a certain Abraxas Malfoy) had allowed him to keep the home.

He laid the body reverently on the table in the living room, unwilling to subject it to the floor. Harry looked smaller in death, and in all honesty, with the removal of those great black wings, he looked practically miniature.

Tom Riddle ran a slow hand over Harry's cheek, taking in the paleness, the stillness of the flesh. He shuddered in revulsion in face of this stark display of mortality in such an enigmatic creature.

" _Our son._ " whispered Harry's voice inside his head, bringing him back to the present reality.

He slowly slunk into a nearby chair, and took both his hands into his hair, running them through his hair in a self-calming motion.

When Harry had confirmed himself as from the future to him all those years ago, Tom Riddle felt that had been enough of an earth-shattering revelation. Then he had discovered he was an avatar of Death. Now he had told him the man he'd regarded all these years as his brother _was in truth his son._

How could this be?

Tom took in Harry's appearance again, noticing the smallest trace of blood had smudged into his pale neck. He moved his hand to rub it away.

The blood.

He drew his hand back, going to the coat lying underneath Harry. He felt into the pockets, and after a few seconds of rummaging, drew forth the vial of blood he had taken. _It looks normal enough_ , Tom Riddle mused, inspecting it closely. But knowing enough magic, and Harry, this was more likely a conduit for... _memories._

He needed a Pensieve. There wasn't one there, but he knew there were a few in the Ministry. He would have to go there.

"I am sorry, my love." Riddle addressed the corpse as he prepared to leave. Feeling a powerful wash of regret race through him, he Apparated from the room.

 

The Ministry was quiet, but the hour was late, so this was unsurprising. A security wizard nodded to him as he entered the Department of Mysteries, making no small talk with him, which Tom Riddle appreciated.

He supposed in this time of yet another magical war, the Minister for Magic had some rights to utilizing the equipment of this certain department. Granted this instance was for utter selfish reasons. But- truth be told- perhaps the solution of how to stop Tom Potter would reveal itself to him.

He approached the department's Pensieve, a collection of thoughts and memories of the collective of Unspeakables that had worked there glimmering in the dark. The blue light of water illuminated Tom Riddle's handsome face as he approached, and he quietly inspected it.

The water remained undisturbed. He drew forth the vial, uncorked it, and tipped it down into the blue shimmering water. The red made a striking impression.

Riddle swallowed, and with only a moment's hesitation, dipped his head into the basin.

 

Tom Riddle was standing in a forest. The landscape was unfamiliar.

It was a vivacious, deep green, with large, beautiful pine trees. And, despite all, Tom felt a lightness enter his heart at the peaceful quiet of the deep forest. He began to walk through the forest, observing a deer quietly munching grass, a yellow butterfly fluttering by. Even a small snake slithered nearby, and Riddle fought the urge to speak to it.

A large flapping of wings was heard, breaking the stillness of the forest. Riddle ducked instinctively underneath the bulk of a large fir as a huge shadow passed over ahead. Tom turned his head up from where he was crouched, and observed a huge, pale white dragon flying over. It was rather low to the ground.

_I am in a memory. It cannot harm me._

Tom Riddle slowly rose to his feet. He then continued walking, altering his direction to head downhill towards where the dragon had originated from.

He was soon at the banks of a large lake. It was a cloudy day, so the water was a deep black colour. But this was the least of his concerns. He observed a trio of teenagers by the bank. A brown-haired girl, a red-headed boy, and... _Harry Potter._

The girl was moving forward to Harry, as to stand by his side and the red-head. The boy had a shimmering cloak in his hands, and he made to throw it over his shoulders.

But suddenly he hesitated.

"What is it Harry?" said the boy.

"It's...." Harry suddenly rose his head to the sky, looking at something they could not see. "He's...here." He looked frightened. "Get under the cloak, now!"

"What about you?" the girl demanded.

"He already knows I am here. We can take him by surprise." Harry handed a golden chalice over to them, green eyes flashing in determination behind his spectacles. "I'll distract him, you two figure out a way to disarm him. Hide the cup!"

The boy hastily pocketed the goblet. The girl, shooting a desperate look to Harry, grabbed the red-head, whisking the cloak over their shoulders. The two vanished.

Harry took a deep breath and gave a nod to the now invisible figures. He turned away from them, to face the forest.

He didn't wait long. A tall, thin, pale figure dressed in fine silk black robes slowly strode out from the shade of the trees. He was lacking any hair, and his eyes were bright scarlet, accented with cat-like slits. His nose, Tom observed, was flat- akin to a snake's.

"Harry Potter." declared the pale man, a high-cold voice emanating from him. "We meet again. "

Harry was standing stock still. " .... Tom." he acknowledged.

 _Tom?_ thought Riddle, horrified. _He cannot mean this is...._

 _"I_ am Lord Voldemort, and you would do well to remember that, boy." Harry snorted defiantly, and Tom felt his heart patter at the gesture.

"I am here to prevent yet another destruction of a valued item to me...perhaps you would venture a guess to what it is?" hissed Voldemort maliciously.

Harry gave Voldemort a meticulous scan. He then shrugged his shoulders. "I don't see another horcrux on you. Is it more jewelry?"

Voldemort let out an inhuman screech, snapping a curse from the long wand he had aimed at Harry. The boy dodged the curse, flattening himself to the ground.

Tom Riddle was aghast. The desire to protect to Harry Potter was overwhelming, but this was a memory, and no amount of wand waving or forcibly attempting to drag him away from battle would do a thing.

Voldemort launched himself at Harry, who kicked himself from the ground, raising his wand to launch a counter-spell. The two wands snapped with spell power.

They remained locked until a spell suddenly whirled to strike at Voldemort from behind. The Dark Lord immediately flew upwards, the spell missing its target...to strike into _Harry_. Harry fell in a collapse as ropes bound across his body, and his wand rolled out from his hand. Voldemort gracefully landed behind the boy, extending his own wand out.

If Tom didn't know better, he thought this would be the end.

"An invisibility cloak? Did you think Lord Voldemort did not know your friends were hiding somewhere? " he sneered. Harry's face instantly fell, and Voldemort cackled at that. " _Accio cloak_!"

The boy and girl were now made visible as the cloak flew into the Dark Lord's hand, but they had reacted appropriately. The girl had her wand pointed at Lord Voldemort. The boy, half behind her, appeared to be trying to draw his own wand, but was struggling to free it.

"Oh Harry, your dear friends, you were hiding them away...how noble. No matter, Lord Voldemort will provide them with a quick death..."

The red-headed boy momentarily froze, but a look of determination crossed the girl's face. Harry choked out, "No!"

Lord Voldemort did not hesitate. " _Avada Ked_ -"

But this wasn't to be either, as a roar and a sudden blur of freckled skin and red hair tackled into Lord Voldemort. The vengeful force bellowed, "HERMIONE!"

"ARRGHHHHHHH!" roared Voldemort, as the two rolled by the bank of the lake.

Tom Riddle was emotionally torn. If this wasn't all so bloody dangerous he would have laughed. He settled for an audible exhale of breath, waiting for the next event in this melodrama.

He didn't have to wait long. Voldemort had thrown the red-haired boy bodily off him, and his red cat eyes were darting rapidly back and forth between the girl and him, as if torn on who to dispatch first. 

" _Stupefy_!" snapped Voldemort, knocking the red-head down. He fell down like a sack of bricks.

"RON!" yelled the girl.

Voldemort gave a displeased noise, and settled the next issue at hand with a wave of his wand, sending a non-verbal disarming spell towards the girl. Her wand went flying.

He then muttered _'Serpensortia_ '. A long, medium sized black snake appeared from the tip of his wand, unfolding in the air and sliding onto the cool stones. Hermione, now wandless, froze, as snake hissed and drew itself uptight in front of her, preparing to strike.

Harry writhed on the ground. He suddenly hesitated, and rolled onto his side, eyes focused on the snake. _"No."_ He hissed out in recognizable Parseltongue. The snake whipped around to face the boy. Harry Potter shook his head, _"Leave her alone."_

Voldemort stopped to watch the exchange. A mystified look appeared on his face.

The snake weaved back and forth, seemingly confused. " _No sssssssstrike_?" 

Harry shook his head again. " _No._ "

It gave a discontented hiss, and then bowed its head down, lying docile on the grey stones.

Voldemort stalked over to Harry, as Hermione rushed past him, kneeling to attend to the fallen red-head. "Ron...Ronald Weasley, you wake up!" she cried out again, shaking him. She then shot a panicked look over to Harry.

Voldemort stood over the bound Harry Potter, an unreadable expression on his face. He pointed his wand at Harry's chin. _"How is it that you can speak the tongue of serpents?"_ Lord Voldemort addressed him, hissing.

"I've always been able to." Harry replied back in English, warily watching Voldemort.

Voldemort made a strangled noise. He then reached a pale hand down to pick up Harry's discarded wand, and pocketed it in his robes. He then moved to the still bound Harry, grabbing the front of the ropes in his long, white fingers. 

Voldemort then surreptitiously pulled the boy close to him, inspecting him nose to ...noseless. A moment passed, and the red cat eyes narrowed into thin slits, boring into jade green.

" _Accio cup_." he snapped.

The girl snapped a futile hand out, but it was too late. The golden cup sailed over her hand, landing neatly in the Dark Lord's grip. Without further ado, the two then Apparated. They left an unconscious boy, a distraught girl, and a rather hungry snake, who slithered off into the forest.

Tom Riddle felt the world whirl and fell along into the story.

 

Tom was now in a drawing room of some sorts. It was rather elegant, the taste of pureblood aristocracy, garish "M" letters highlighting the room in bronzes and greens. There had been a considerable passage of time from the first memory, as now a blazing fireplace was lit, chasing away the cold of winter.

Harry was sitting in the room on a burgundy sofa emblazoned with yet another ostentatious "M". He was dressed in deep green robes, which, on Tom's observation, made Harry appear very, very handsome. A glass of wine was in his hand. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

This was so odd and out of place in context to what Tom had just witnessed. But he gave a shrug, instead taking in his lover's appearance. _Harry is much tanner in this time._ he mused. Riddle then sat himself down, hands resting on his knees. The door slowly opened, and in came the story's antagonist.

 _I for one cannot believe this will be me._ Tom Riddle had long since come to terms with the fact he had become the Dark Lord. But it still rankled him on end at how he _appeared_. 

The pale white man studied Harry for a moment, then gave a small nod to him as he sat down at an adjoining table. 

"Hungry?" inquired the Dark Lord. Harry gave a small shake of his head. Tom watched this civil display with the slightest sense of doubt. Where was the hostility he had seen moments ago? But the truth of this was to come from Harry, who spoke up.

"Any news of..."

"Your friends?" The Dark Lord conjured himself a glass of wine as well, along with a plate of what appeared like venison. He meticulously began to cut into the meat as he spoke.

"They haven't stopped trying to search for you." Harry looked into his own wineglass.

"No fear, my soul, they will continue to enjoy their freedom...." the Dark Lord made a rather exaggerated cut into the meat. "So as long as you continue to behave."

Ah. Harry was a hostage in this.

Harry downed the wineglass and placed it on a nearby coffee table. He let out a slow breath, green eyes focusing on the rich textures of the rug behind his round glasses. An awkward silence passed, the only sounds the cutlery against the plate, and the crackling of the fireplace.

Lord Voldemort finished his meal and waved it away as quickly as it appeared. The man stood, quietly walking over to the diminishing fire. He waved his pale hand, the red flames then licking further up the wood. Discreetly, Voldemort's eyes flickered over to Harry's robes, and the look that passed on his face was very familiar to Riddle.

Much like Tom Riddle had been captivated by Harry Potter in his time, the Dark Lord was falling suspect to those same desires.

Harry, oblivious to the dark glances being sent his way, shifted in his seat, obviously wanting to ask something, but failing miserably.

Voldemort helped.

"More wine?"

 

This is absurd, thought Tom Riddle for the umpteenth time that evening, _utterly absurd._

Voldemort had managed to ply Harry with several more glasses of wine, and now the boy was half-flopped across the sofa, his outstretched hand extending out to the adjacently seated Dark Lord's thigh. He was talking nonsensically, something about "Lockhart...and..those..p-p-pixies!"

Said Dark Lord was pretending to ignore where Harry's hand was, but Tom knew his own self too well.

"And so, " Voldemort summarized. "Despite having the advantage over a clearly incompetent wizard, you decide he was your best help to surviving the Chamber of Secrets?"

"It wasn't that...easy." Harry rolled over onto his side, withdrawing his hand to prop his head up. Tom didn't miss the scowl that crossed the Dark Lord's face.

"I mean....that giant snake..and  you- you were d....down there, and ....well, I didn't know it was you at the time." He giggled then. “You were so handsome too... I mean, I could...see why Ginny liked you. All the girls must have liked you."

Tom Riddle wanted to shake Harry. His older self however, had a wicked look break out on his face, like a niffler in a jewelry shop.

"Handsome?" purred Lord Voldemort.

"Oh yes." Harry wriggled himself to sit up on the sofa. He gasped dramatically, a pink flush accenting his cheeks. "Is it just me, or is it getting hotter in here?" He tugged uselessly on his high-collared robes.

"I suppose I can assist you." Voldemort replied, cat-like slits gleaming.

Tom Riddle wanted to kick something. Instead, he settled for mentally imagining the entire room going up in flames.

He watched Voldemort lean over and unclasp the top of Harry's robe, revealing a tanned neck underneath the high collar. Long, bone white fingers slowly trailed down, pushing the fabric away to reveal an equivalently tanned shoulder.

Harry's breath hitched.

The Dark Lord surged forward. He pinned Harry to the sofa, and his mouth descended on the exposed throat, mouthing it hungrily. Harry let out soft moans at this, his arms encircling around the Dark Lord's neck as to pull him closer down.

Tom Riddle felt a certain stirring in his own body, and he got up, quickly stalking past the two to the doorway. As much as Tom would derive pleasure from watching Harry Potter come undone, he knew there was more to this memory than what he was seeing.

He passed through the door, as effortlessly as a ghost. 

More "M"s and paintings. Tom Riddle rolled his eyes. Even in this time, the Malfoys were predictable. _What am I supposed to see?_

On the floor in the hallway, a newspaper had been deposited unceremoniously. Tom leaned over it, inspecting the headlines:

MUGGLE MENANCE! MAKE SURE YOUR HOME IS PROTECTED AGAINST NON-MAGICAL ENTRY!

_NEW MINISTRY REGISTRY GUIDELINES ARE PUBLISHED: DO YOU KNOW YOUR RIGHTS?_

_DRAGON'S BLOOD: A THIRTEENTH USE?_

This wasn't interesting. Riddle scanned lower.

_MINISTRY RAID APPREHENDS HOGWARTS STUDENTS._

_By Flora Whiteflint_

_A raid conducted by the Ministry of Magic this past Thursday detained two former Hogwarts students, being identified as the son of a disgraced Ministry Employee, Ronald Weasley, and a Hermione Granger._

_"These students, albeit misguided, were involved in a plot to overthrow the Ministry." stated Dolores Umbridge, secretary to the Minister._

_Headmaster Severus Snape was sought for comment but was unavailable at the time of release._

_A to be dated trial will determine the..._

Tom's gaze cast over to the door, where another moan echoed. He had a bad feeling about this.

The room tugged away.

 

Now Riddle was standing in the snow. He was in what appeared be the gardens of Malfoy Manor. The snow blanketed everything, but there was at least a fountain that he could see.

Lord Voldemort was at the fountain, alone. He was attempting to observe his reflection in the frozen ice.

"What, see something you don't like?" quipped a voice from behind Tom.

Tom whirled to face-

"Harry Potter." said Voldemort, his voice high and cold.

"Yeah.... here I am." said Harry. He stepped past Riddle and went to the fountain, standing parallel to the Dark Lord. His initial bravado seemed to have faded, for now he was now biting the inside of his mouth.  After a moment's hesitation, he brushed a layer off of the snow and then sat down, looking back up towards the older man expectantly.

"What brings you to me?" Voldemort said.

Now Harry was blushing. "Well, about last night-"

The Dark Lord's pale hand moved out and slowly dragged a nail underneath Harry's chin. "What about it?"

"Well," Harry was practically scarlet now, "Y-you called me your 'soul'. What did you mean?"

Now Voldemort hesitated. The hand left his chin to drag his nails against the boy's throat. The boy moved his head to the side to allow the caress, green eyes fluttering closed.

"You speak parseltongue." said Voldemort abruptly. "Why do you have this ability?"

"I was told....your powers were transferred to me." said Harry, eyes still shut. Voldemort began to lean over him, fingers still dancing on the boy's pulse.

"It is more than my powers, boy..." he breathed, white mouth lingering over pink lips. "You have a piece of my soul." Voldemort gave Harry a deep kiss then.

They remained that way for several moments, until Voldemort, still kissing Harry, dipped his right hand lower down the boy's throat until it rested at his collar. His left hand stealthily crept upwards to tangle in the raven hair.

Harry moved to embrace Voldemort, but the Dark Lord suddenly broke the kiss, yanking Harry's head back as he simultaneously pulled the collar down, exposing tanned skin to the winter air.  A purple bruise was clearly visible on the boy's throat.

Lord Voldemort's head then sank downwards to mouth the spot in fervor. Harry let out a pleased moan.

The Dark Lord drew back for a moment, breathing over the newly wettened mark. "There are uncanny likenesses between us Harry Potter. We are two halves of the same coin, sharing each other's thoughts. The very same blood courses in our veins. One could say we are united more than man and wife."

"Are you saying you're my wife?" murmured Harry, head still tilted back.

Voldemort glared. Then he bit him.

"Ouch!" complained Harry, rearing back and slapping a hand to his neck. I can't believe you just up and _bit_ me!"

"You may be a seventeen-year-old boy, but do not forget to whom you are speaking to." the Dark Lord said, drawing himself up to his full height.

"Right. Bloody hell that smarts." Harry rubbed the reddening mark again, rising up from the fountain. "So we share a soul. In the scar, right?"

Now Voldemort was looking at the lightning scar. He tapped a long, spidery finger to the mark itself.

"It entered there...." He dragged his finger down from the scar- past the nose, the lips, the chin, the throat-until it paused right above Harry's heart. "It lives in here." He then pressed his hand to the boy's chest, splaying his long, white fingers out.

Harry sucked in a breath."...I'm a horcrux?"

Voldemort dipped his head lower, until he was above the boy's mouth, still holding his hand against the other's chest. The younger man's mouth unconsciously parted, and Harry let out a breath, the warm air creating a puff of mist in the cold.

"You are _mine_." breathed Lord Voldemort, as he took another kiss.

 

Harry and Voldemort were sitting out in the gardens of Malfoy Manor. It was now late spring. Harry was leaning on the Dark Lord's shoulder, holding a white flower out.

 _A_ _Chrysanthemum_ , Tom Riddle mused.

Voldemort had his noseless face buried in Harry's wild hair. For such a terrifying visage, it had the unintended look of domesticity. A rather large snake was making itself at home in the grass nearby, lazily snapping at a passing dragonfly.

"What I'd like to know-" spoke Harry, "is why exactly this persecution of Muggleborns continues? Neither you nor I are purebloods, isn't this a little hypocritical?"

Lord Voldemort sighed, his spidery fingers coming under Harry's chin, to tilt it up to him.

"You know as well as I do the consequences of interactions with Muggles."

"Doesn't mean it’s the same for everyone." Harry breathed, as Voldemort placed a kiss to his lips. The boy's arms encircled his neck, and the two then exchanged a more passionate moment.

"I suppose-" another kiss, "Certain provisions could be relooked-"

Harry gave him a warm smile.

A loud snap indicated someone's approach, and Tom observed a silver masked man appear in the garden. Harry and Voldemort pulled apart from each other, and the Dark Lord stood up from the bench, as the man came forward and knelt before him.

"My Lord, there has been a request of your presence at the Ministry."

"I thought I was not to be disturbed until this evening, Dolohov." Voldemort said softly.

"It involves..." The man started, giving a small tilt of the head in Harry's direction, where the boy remained sitting on the bench. Voldemort's red cat eyes narrowed, and he abruptly interrupted-

"Harry, would you be so kind to return to the manor?" he asked quietly.

The masked man twitched. Riddle had a suspicion the Dark's Lord illicit affair with the boy was a source of discontent for his followers, but they had neither the means nor power to do anything about it.

"What's going on?" Harry asked.

"Minor issues." Voldemort replied coolly. "Change is difficult, and not everyone sees the world as it should be yet." He looked over his shoulder back at Harry. "Return to the manor, and I shall attend to you later."

"There's something you're not telling me," he replied obstinately.

" _That is not for you to judge_." hissed Lord Voldemort in the snake language, becoming incensed.

Harry growled, rising to his feet. He stalked off from the two to go further into the garden, apparently having no intention to return to the manor.

" _Nagini, follow him._ " ordered Voldemort. The large snake gave a sibilant hiss and slithered off to obey.

Tom Riddle watched the two wizards disappear and followed after the snake into the hedges.

The Malfoy garden was akin to a labyrinth, roses and manicured hedges erupting into dark shades of art. Riddle found Harry sitting at a rather large fountain, staring into his own reflection.

"What am I doing..." murmured Harry. He tapped the water with his fingers, creating small ripples.

Tom Riddle sat down as well, across from the unseeing Harry. A tug in his chest had started up again. He reached out a hand, longing to caress the down turned cheek. His fingers only passed through Harry's face, and Tom let his hand drop, feeling foolish.

But Harry wasn't alone for long. A shifting of leaves, and a dark-hair woman stepped out from the shadows. She had a manic look to her that Tom Riddle didn't like.

"Oh, if it’s not my favourite itty bitty _Harry Potter_." the woman sneered.

"Bellatrix." Harry addressed her, apparently unwilling to rise to the bait. She scoffed, tossing her mane of hair as she crossed the divide between them, towering over the seated boy. She crossed her hands across her chest, giving her head a half-tilt as she observed Potter.

"So boy, how do you enjoy being the Dark Lord's slut?"

"Almost as much as I enjoy knowing it's not you." he replied tonelessly. Bellatrix fumed, her eyes slitting in barely suppressed rage. Harry turned his back to her.

"If there's nothing else you want, I hope you go back to whatever you waste your time doing." Harry commented.

The woman's face lit with an unholy glee, as if she had waited for this golden opportunity. "Oh, I suppose you don't know what I am doing these days?"

"I really don't care."

"But that's where I think you would be wrong." Bellatrix's eyes had a dangerous look to them, and Tom in that moment understood her. This woman detested Harry Potter because she was jealous.

She gave a cursory inspection of her nails, "If you would like to know, I've just returned from the Ministry, having had the _ultimate_ pleasure of watching the court ruling of a certain Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger."

Tom watched as Harry's back stiffened. The voice came back uneven. "You're lying."

"Lying?" the woman laughed. "Why I would lie?"

"To hurt me." the boy growled, jade eyes flashing in contempt.

"Oh please." The woman stalked to the other side of the fountain, extending her wand. She waved it the air, forming an image.

It was a trial room. Several witches and wizards were seated on elevated benches, as the boy and girl from the first memory were kneeling in front of them.

 _The Wizengamot._ Tom identified.

"We the court find you guilty of perpetuating crimes against Ministry and hereby sentence you both to death." declared a seated official. A low murmur erupted from the court.

Harry shot to his feet. "When was this?"

"Oh they've been held for a few months now," Bellatrix's voice had dropped, and she was now re-approaching Harry, akin to a wolf stalking a deer. "It was only today the jury found them guilty and sentenced them to die. As a matter of fact, I believe the Dark Lord himself is conducting the execution as we speak."

"No...he said..." Harry was shaking.

"He said what, your friends'll have their happy ever after?" Bellatrix gave another raucous laugh, "Grow up, Potter."

Harry gave a choked noise.

"By the way, a small reminder... "She placed her hands on Harry's shoulders, leaning up to him and whispering in his ear. "While you were sleeping with Dark Lord your friends were imprisoned and tortured."

Tom left the two of them in a kaleidoscope of colour.

 

They were in a different room this time. Harry's face was streaked with tears, and the Dark Lord stood impassively in the centre of the room.

"I... I...." Harry sobbed.

"Harry-” began Lord Voldemort.

"NO!" he screamed. "You lied- you lied to me, you said they would be left alone-"

The Dark Lord growled, "They left me no choice." 

Harry screamed aloud, a powerful burst of magic vibrating through the room, sending a chair hurtling towards Voldemort. With a whip of his wand the Dark Lord destroyed the furniture, sending spikes of wood careening to the ground.

"They were held for MONTHS!" roared Harry, "While I've been...here…with YOU!"

Harry ran forward, and violently threw himself at the other wizard, attempting to impact him with his fist. This only had the consequence of Harry being grabbed by the wrist, as the Dark Lord viciously threw him to the ground.

"You are trying my patience, Potter." seethed Voldemort, pointing his wand at Harry's chest at where the boy was sprawled beneath him. "Need I remind you that you are wandless."

"What, you think I'll just lie here and let this continue?" snapped Harry. "Kill me then, considering you've already killed my friends."

"Do not tempt me." snarled Voldemort. He scrutinized Harry. "Who told you they had been executed?"

"It doesn't matter!"

"Oh I think it very well does." Voldemort said softly, looking into his eyes. He frowned. "Bellatrix Lestrange."

"I shall reprimand her. As for you, you shall return to bed, and we shall discuss this at a time when you are not so emotionally compromised."

Harry spat at him. "Murderer."

Lord Voldemort let out a noise of distaste. He walked away from Harry, only pausing in the doorway. He looked over his shoulder to the distraught boy.

"Do not be so quick to judge me, Harry." he said quietly.

Harry lifted his tear streaked face to meet Voldemort's own. "How can I not with what you've done?"

The Dark Lord left the room, the quiet click of the door behind him.

Harry had his knees pulled up his chest. After moments passed, the boy stopped, letting his knees slowly drift down to the ground.

"Ron...Hermione..." he whispered into the waning twilight of the room. "I'm so sorry..."

He slowly raised his head up to look at a rather large ornate French window and pulled himself shakily to his feet. He crossed past a rather large bed, some discarded books, until he was face to face with the translucent glass.

Harry released a slow breath, raising his hand quietly to the window. His hand slid over to the lock, resting on it.  The boy inspected it then, nails digging into the mechanism. It wriggled a brief moment, and then opened with a click. The large windows slowly pushed opened, side-drapes fluttering at the movement.

A cool breeze entered the room, and the boy, dropping his hand, stared sightlessly out into the night. The view was high above the gardens of the manor. The considerable height gave one an impressive visual over the estate.

"I can't kill him." Harry said brokenly to no one.

Tom stepped forward to stand next to Harry, likewise staring out into the darkness of the night. Riddle looked up to the bright night sky. He could make out the twinkling of the stars, the constellations Deneb and Ophiuchus clearly visible, and the massive wave of the Milky Way gleaming from the heavens. 

 _What will happen now?_ he thought, looking back down to gaze at the boy standing stiffly at his side.

They stood together for several long hours. Voldemort did not return.

 

At approximately 3 AM Harry Potter calmly stepped out of the window.

 

The Dark Lord's fury was hideous to behold.

Half the manor had been obliterated. Tom Riddle observed the current head of the Malfoy house cowering underneath his master's wand.

"My Lord, if I... I could beg your indulgence, I... I can explain...!"

"I thought there were enchantments on the entire house, how would have he simply _broken through them_?"

"But your quarters.... my Lord, they were not held under my enchantments......!"

Malfoy whimpered as the wand came towards his face. Lord Voldemort looked half crazed.

"EXPLAIN." snarled the Dark Lord.

"It was your order, my Lord, when you had first come here and graced us with your presence. You did not want magical interference in your quarters, and so those magical barriers were removed-"

Tom Riddle understood as Malfoy continued his placating rambling. The room had probably never been re-enchanted by Voldemort. _You dropped your guard. You trusted Harry Potter. Now you're looking for someone to blame._

 _"_ Get out of my sight, Lucius." Voldemort's voice dripped with barely restrained fury.

"My Lord!" the man bowed, and quickly departed, leaving the Dark Lord standing alone in the foyer.

Long minutes passed as Tom observed the wizard standing there, solitary as a statue. He briefly considered moving away to try and discover more of what this memory was to show him, when Lord Voldemort let out an agonized noise. "How could you do this to me, Harry..."

Tom followed him outdoors. They walked for mere moments as they made their way over to a mound of fresh earth.

Voldemort approached the dirt mound, red cat eyes fixated on it. Tom Riddle craned his neck to look upwards at the manor, seeing the familiar glint of the French windows above. The windows were shut, but the significance was clear.

He had been buried where he had fallen.

Tom Riddle did not know what to make of it. That which he had seen of his future self was a mix of hatred and passion for Harry Potter. He had not denied killing the boy's friends nor was above manipulating him for his own agenda. What had the Dark Lord expected?

"My soul..." the Dark Lord's snake-like slits flared, as he raised his wand, pointing it at the mound. Tom felt a sudden lurch of horror. Was he going to destroy the grave?

But this was not the case. Instead from the grave raised three flowers; red, white, and yellow intertwined with each other. Chrysanthemums.

"You were wrong." Lord Voldemort said quietly. 

He pocketed his wand and turned his back to the grave. Tom watched him take a few steps, and then he disappeared.

The world tilted again.

 

Tom Riddle apparently hadn't moved though. He was still at the grave, alone, though this time it was night.

"Now what?" Tom asked, feeling cross. He'd already witnessed Harry Potter's death once and having to relive it twice was making him agitated. Riddle paced over, and sat down next to the mound, kicking his legs out from under him.

 _Obviously you didn't stay dead._ Riddle thought, eyes narrowed as he stared at the earth mound from where he was sitting. The flowers were still there, though in the gloom of the evening their colours were muted.

He sighed, looking up at the foreboding window, still closed, and then over to his left, where he knew the entrance of the gardens to be. A mist was rolling through the entranceway, and Tom observed it in mild interest. It soon rolled over to him, and while Tom could not feel the sticky wet, he had the strange sensation of it passing through him. 

The mist oozed around him, and then began to seep into the grave. The flowers began to twitch with reaction to the cold.

Cold?

Riddle felt an all-encompassing cold, and he lurched to his feet, suddenly disturbed. _This was a memory._ He shouldn't be feeling anything at all.

As a matter of fact... _how can I be having these memories if Harry had been dead?_

Tom turned around, the sense of cold increasing. "Who's there?" he barked, drawing out his wand.  "Show yourself!"

Nothing answered him. Riddle growled, his wand lighting, striding in the dark. "I will not be made a fool of."

A whispering noise came from behind. He whirled to the direction of the noise, wand pointed out. It was the grave. The mist, which had been a normal grey colour, had turned black. It was undulating above the grave, like a living thing.

A sudden movement caught Tom's eye, and he noticed the dirt of the mound shift around, as if disturbed. It was coming from within.

A pale hand suddenly shot out, grasping at nothing.

"Harry." Riddle said, lowering his wand.

The hand grasped at the side of the grave, clutching at the side. It dug into earth, and pulled, dragging the rest of the body with it, until it was sitting upright.

Harry did not look good. His whole body was milky white, and his head was tilted at an unnatural angle, most likely a souvenir from the impact he had made on his descent. There were old bruises still on his skin, accented with tears in the flesh that revealed grey muscle underneath. Maggots and various insects were now falling away from the now moving corpse.

Tom felt ill. _Why me?_ It was bad enough the current Harry Potter was dead in his home. Now he had to see him again in same state, albeit rotting away.

Harry rolled his head, and a sickening crack echoed, indicating the reconnect of his neck bones. His green eyes, unhidden behind glasses, looked out at nothing.

He then gave an almighty shriek and fell forward into the grave. Tom raced forward, as if to help him, but it was unnecessary- his back spasmed, and suddenly two huge black wings burst forth, fanning out and extending.

Tom sucked in a breath, watching in fascination as Harry assumed this new form. His green eyes glowed like the Avada Kedavra curse, and the pupils morphed into that familiar black sclera that Riddle had come to admire.

The body was rapidly healing as well. The tears and bruising faded, and within moments, it looked as if Harry had never died in the first place. Granted, his body was paler than when he was alive. His skin was now as pale as bone.

Harry Potter was now standing, the now bright light of the moon dipping down and alighting him in a silvery glow. He extended a pale hand down to the grave, and by some force, out raised his holly wand. Voldemort had buried it with him apparently. There was no end to the mystery that was his future self.

He clasped it, inspecting it between his pale fingers. Harry stepped out of the grave, and turned back to face it, waving the wand over the dirt. The earth restructured itself, recreating the grave.

Without further ado, the boy placed the wand into his pocket. He then shifted his pale hand deeper into the pocket. The boy slowly drew forth a golden snitch, which gleamed in the moonlight.  Tom could barely make out the inscription in the shadow of Harry's body, but he could make out '... _at the close.'_

"I open at the close," rasped Harry. He raised the snitch to his pale lips, kissing it. The snitch then whirled open, to reveal-

The Resurrection Stone.

The stone pulsed with a vibrant red light, and Harry withdrew it, dropping the snitch into the grass. He inspected it for a moment, electric inhuman eyes narrowing. Then he opened his mouth, placing the stone on the top of his tongue. With a quick pull of the muscle, Harry swallowed the stone. Tom could see its red light pulse down the boy's throat until it faded into the chest cavity.

Harry let out an unnecessary exhale of breath, and then looked up to the sky. His wings arched out, and Riddle was reminded of the old paintings he had seen of angels in his youth. _Where will you go...?_ thought Tom.

He wouldn't find out. For as soon as the boy leaped into the air, black wings furiously beating into the night sky, the world swept away, taking Tom Riddle along with it.

 

Tom Riddle was very familiar to where he was now.

He was standing outside of Wool's Orphanage. Heavy snow blanketed the ground, indicating it was mid-winter.

Night again. Riddle was unsurprised. Most everything in Harry's life seemed to take place at night. What was curious was this was obviously not Harry's time. The lamps outside were firm indicators that he had gone back to his own time.

A sudden whooshing noise, and suddenly Harry Potter was there, kneeling in the snow. Long black hair was wild and tangled around.... _her face_.  Harry was in his female form. She was clutching something close to her chest which Tom could not make out.

She looked in agony. Her mouth was opened, making silent gasping noises. Wings were flapping wildly out, kicking snow flurries up, blurring her image. Tom didn't understand the source of her distress until he saw the black blood.

Harry was wearing loose robes, which didn't give much in terms of body definition, but Tom could see that somewhere underneath them she was oozing blood into the ground. The snow stained with its colour.

_What had happened?_

Harry gave another cry. Riddle paused. No, that wasn't Harry. He saw what made the noise. It was the bundle in Harry's arms.

 _No._ thought Tom Riddle.

A small baby, still covered in blood, was wailing in protest of the cold. Harry stared at it, unsure.

 _Why did you come here?_ Tom's hands were in his hair, watching in distress.

A matron of the orphanage came out and gave a horrified gasp. "Miss! Oh my misses, what are you-"

"Take him." Harry suddenly thrust the baby towards her. "I can't...I can't."

"There there," the matron soothed. "We'll get this all settled, misses, I just need you to come inside and talk things over, maybe over a cup of tea?" Her eyes glinted in sympathy. "I understand the current economic crisis has had a number of surrenders this year."

"No time." Harry wheezed, rising from the snow. The woman frowned.

"Miss, there are certain procedures I must follow before we accept any child to Wool's. I'm afraid I cannot make an exception."

"I shouldn't be here." Harry moaned, looking distraught. She approached closer, almost whispering to herself, "But I couldn't think of anywhere else to go..."

The woman backed away in horror as Harry's features became prominent in the light. "Your eyes...."

Harry placed the infant in her arms as the other woman shook in fear, unable to move away from her dynamic gaze. The inhuman woman then stared down at the bundle the matron now held, black accented eyes betraying her thoughts.

"How could you do this to me, Tom?"

Riddle did not think she was referring to the baby.

Harry Potter then disappeared off the porch. The woman gasped, holding the baby close to her chest, as it let out another small wail.

The snow, every so lightly, began to fall once more on the ground, masking the blood.

 

Tom Riddle blinked.

He was still outside of the Orphanage. But it was obvious time had passed- no longer was there snow on the ground.

Tom didn't have time to ponder this over as out came a matron, holding the hand of a small toddler.

"Come along, Tom, that's a good boy. Let us go and see the flowers?"

The toddler chirped a happy reply, "Yes Mam!"

The matron chuckled, giving a small, sad smile. "No Tom, I'm not your mother."

A loud banging was heard from inside, and another woman came out, looking harassed.

"If I get my hands on that little devil-" She snarled, looking irritated. "There he is! Ollie, hand him over this instant, he needs to be punished!"

"Tom?" Ollie frowned. "He's been with me all morning, what could he have possibly done?"

"That Riddle boy has been setting snakes into the dayroom! I don't know where's he finding them, but the other children are mad with hysterics."

Ollie laughed, as she petted Tom's hair, looking amused. "Oh, you're mistaken Sally. This isn't _that_ Tom."

"How can you tell?" said Sally, looking miffed. "They practically look like!"

Ollie crouched down to Tom's level, pushing bangs away from his face. "Well for starters, this Tom smiles a lot more. "

She peered into his face, tickling his nose. Tom giggled at this. "But the easiest way is to tell is the eyes." She pointed at them. "They're green."

Sally snorted, but Tom Riddle could tell she was placated. "I says they're more hazel." she snorted, dusting her apron. "But that's not all. Mrs. Cole wants to see us all in kitchens for a quick meeting. " She then returned to the house, leaving Ollie with the small boy.

Ollie turned, a small frown on her face. "Alright love, I have to go inside. Can you be a good boy and stay on the porch?"

"Yes Mam!"

Ollie smiled, giving the boy a small kiss on the forehead. She rose to her feet, and walked inside after the other woman. Tom flopped down on the steps, humming to himself as most children had a tendency to do.

But he wasn't alone for long. Tom Riddle observed a dark shadow appear on the ground in front the little Tom. It grew bigger, until suddenly, the form of Harry Potter dropped down from the sky, black wings flapping out he landed.

 _Dramatic enough?_   thought Riddle.

Tom gaped at him, obviously impressed with the appearance of this winged stranger. "Who're you!" He pointed a small finger at the man.

"I have come to take you back home." Harry said.

Tom scrunched his nose. "Home? But ...I don't have that."

"That was a mistake." Harry said softly.

"But then who are you? Mrs. Cole says we isn't to talk strangers...." But then Tom seemed to change his mind. "My name's Tom." The boy introduced, sticking his hand out politely.

"I am....." but at the word 'Tom' Harry flinched.

"Your name...is Tom?" Harry asked in a strangled voice.

The little boy nodded his head eagerly. He jumped off the steps, looking at Harry in curiosity. "Are you my papa?"

"I am....your guardian." the man said. "I will take you home now."

The boy looked up with shining eyes up to his mother, who embraced him then, and the two disappeared together.

 

Tom Riddle shot out of Pensieve, gasping at the sudden sensation of returning to reality.

Somehow...Harry had conceived a child with him, abandoned the boy, then re-integrated himself into his son's life. But there were so many other unanswered questions. What had Harry done those years after he had reclaimed his son?

He balled his hand into a fist. Furthermore, he still didn't have any clue what to do about the matter of Tom Potter.

"Minister?" a voice came from behind him.

Tom Riddle turned around and faced the security wizard. "Yes, can I help you?" he snapped.

The other wizard flinched, and Tom cursed himself inwardly. This was no way to behave to an uninvolved subordinate.

"Forgive me," Riddle replied, trying to calm himself, "It has been a trying night. "

"No problems, Minister!" the wizard waved deprecatingly, "I was jus' making my rounds. Jus' left the Time room, sir. Been a pretty quiet night, all things considered."

Tom looked at him in a new light. "The Time room?" his eyes gleamed.

"Yes, Minister."

"Is it unlocked?"

A fidget.

"No Minister, that and the Death room are never left unlocked, not even in working hours."

Tom had only one response for this.

" _Stupefy_."

 

Tom stood observing the Time-turners stacked on the wall.

 _But where to go...._ he pondered.

He couldn't go back and undo Tom Potter's mistakes. There were too many, and not enough time as it was. But perhaps he could go forward and try to keep them from continuing.

He took the first Time-turner closest to him and began to turn.

 

Lord Voldemort was admiring the statue in the Ministry foyer. His eternal companion, Nagini, was coiled on the floor, black tongue flicking out in the air.

"Magic is Might." he read out loud, for no real purpose at all.

He controlled Wizarding Britain and had done so for several years now and yet...it had not brought him the satisfaction he had desired. Voldemort wondered what Harry might have thought of this new age he had ushered in, and then scowled, chastising his weakness. The boy had chosen death over him. He was not worth thinking about.

" _Come Nagini_."

He paced forward, barefoot as he liked, when a sudden pull on his heart made him pause.

A flash of light, and suddenly in the foyer appeared a handsome young man. He locked his red eyes with the grey and realized whom he was seeing.

Lord Voldemort saw himself.

"What is this?" He brought his wand out, and Nagini hissed eagerly behind him, expecting a meal. "Answer, before I strike you down!"

The man threw his hands up, and Voldemort saw in his hand a Time-turner.

"Those were all destroyed..." he muttered, then growled.

"Who are you then, and why are you here?"

"You know who I am, so I'm not even bothering with a response to that." Tom Riddle didn't miss the threatening sparks that came out his future self's wand and thus clarified: "I'm Minister Riddle if you must know, and I am here seeking your help."

"Minister...Riddle?" A non-existent eyebrow quirked on Voldemort's face. Tom scowled.

"Yes. Unlike you, I didn't have to murder my way up to achieve my goals."

Riddle writhed under a _Crucio_ for that one. But he as he laid panting on the ground, Lord Voldemort towering over him, an idea formed in his head on how exactly to communicate to this emotionally challenged man.

"I don't suppose the idea of helping save Harry's legacy appeals to you whatsoever?" he rolled onto his back, staring up at himself.

Voldemort glared. "Harry Potter is dead."

"Well yes," Riddle agreed. He looked thoughtful. "His son did that."

Now there was a confused look. "His son...?"

"Our son, " Tom clarified.

Voldemort only stared.

"I suppose under normal circumstances this would take a while." Tom Riddle sat up and brushed himself off. "Lucky that we are both such accomplished Legilimens?"

 

** Sources: **

_Time travel: Alternate Timelines_

<https://dragonball.fandom.com/wiki/Alternate_timeline>

_The Hero, the Nemesis and the Connection Between Them_

<http://www.the-leaky-cauldron.org/features/essays/issue17/harryriddle/>

_"I'm Minister Riddle if you must know, and I am here seeking your help."_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cc_h5Ghuj4>    _Star Wars, a New Hope (1977)_


	25. Chapter 25

_1981_

The Light Lord strode through the Ministry foyer, black wings dominating the room. His loyal servants had detained a small contingent of security wizards and had them sequestered in the centre of the room.

"Where is Minister Riddle?" he snarled, aiming his holly wand at face at the closest ones. "Speak!"

"What have you become, Potter?" whispered one to his left, and he snarled, turning his wand on her. He didn't recognize her, but his eyes drifted to her chest, where a name badge clarified. It was Watson, one of his former classmates. She had been sorted Slytherin, he recalled.

"How typical, you snakes all band together." he aimed the wand at her. "In my new society, Slytherin will be the first house to be dismantled." he sneered. "No sense having children being brought up as dark wizards."

"My Lord!" cried one of his attendants, and he turned away from her. "Yes, Meadowes?"

Dorcas gave a half-bow. Her black eyes were shining with eagerness and devotion. She must have news of Riddle. This pleased Tom immensely, and he caressed her face, showing her the affection she desired of him. "What news have you brought?"

She leaned into his hand; ruby lips pursed in a smile. "Earlier this evening the Time room was breached."

This was not good news. Potter dropped his hand, his face turning into a scowl. Dorcas shrank back, aware of her Lord's quickness of temper.

"Were all the Time-turners accounted for?"

"All save one, my Lord."

He grit his teeth. No telling where Riddle might have gone. "Remind me how long one can travel through time?

"Five hours is the known limit, my Lord."

Tom Riddle could push limits, he knew. God knew how many he had pushed with him.

"He will have to return, eventually." Potter's black gaze raised to the ceiling. "In the meantime, our glorious cause must continue."

"Yes, My Lord," another bow, "What shall we do with them?"

 He looked over at the bound Watson and her companions.

"Purge them." he said simply.

 

Lord Voldemort stood in the alleyway, still gripping Riddle's arm from when they had transported together through time.

He felt off of sorts. He imagined it was from the separation of Nagini and his other horcruxes. Having spanned the years, he was now more than ever aware of their absence. Why else was he having a crushing sensation in his chest?

"So what is your plan, anyway?" he glared at his counterpart. "A heartfelt conversation?"

"I don't think you or I are capable of such a thing." Riddle replied, pocketing the Time Turner.  He looked up to the sky. "Dawn's coming."

Voldemort seethed. "Astute observation. Might I say again, what are we going to do about my son?"

"Our son." corrected Tom, stepping out from the alleyway. He looked back and forth, as if expecting someone to accost him. Seeing none, he began to walk.

Voldemort scoffed as he paced alongside him. "The way I understood it, it was my actions that made Harry with child, not you."

Tom Riddle gave him a non-plussed look. "You are me. I am you. Are we really having this conversation _?"_

"It begs the question of how Harry conceived a child in the first place. He is male. He is not anatomically capable."

 _"Was_ male. You saw my memories, you know he can switch his gender."

"He could not do that when he was alive." said Voldemort petulantly. At Tom's arched eyebrow, he grumbled, saying, "Well, the _first_ time he was alive."

"You are questioning the reproductive capabilities of a man who died, came back to life as an avatar of Death, sprouted wings, traveled through time and- on that note- slept with both future and past versions of the same man without any scruples?"

Voldemort blinked.

"Fuck if I know." said Tom Riddle, Minister for Magic.

They paused in front of a telephone booth, a small "M" indicating its purpose as a Ministry transportation device.

"After you." said Lord Voldemort.

 

The bodies were being removed from the foyer when the alarms sounded.

"My Lord!" Fabian and Gideon Prewett called from where they were guarding the nearby door. "It's the Minister!"

Tom Potter sat upon a new throne that had been hastily constructed for him in the middle of the Ministry's atrium. He enjoyed the sensation of power it brought him, and had been in the midst of mentally designing his upcoming utopia.

"Surprise, surprise." He leaned back nonchalantly, black wings tilting with his movement. "Do show him in."

Tom Riddle came in the room with a pale, unfamiliar man at his side. Said accompanying man was rather hideous, but in the great scheme of things, unimportant. Tom Potter looked over to the Prewetts, waving his hand in a gesture of dismissal.

"Join the others outside the Ministry. We will soon be departing." The Prewetts gave a respectful bow, leaving the three of them alone in the atrium.

Potter’s eyes locked with Riddle’s.

"You are a hard man to find, Minister Riddle. I am shocked considering you profess to dedicate yourself so _fully_ to the betterment of others."

"Stop this, Tom." Riddle shook his head. "You have done enough already as it is. Stop this now."

"Or what, you will tell on me? Oh wait, I guess you can’t since Harry Potter is DEAD!" He leapt up from his chair, black wings extended out.

The pale man gave a violent start, but Tom Riddle snapped an arm on him, "Yes, we are all well aware you aren't above killing your own flesh and blood to further your own ends."

 _"_ Too true," Potter drew forth his holly wand, “and I am going to start with you, Riddle."

Tom Riddle and Lord Voldemort both dodged the jet green light that came at them, finding themselves backpedaling towards the large statue that encompassed the room. Riddle drew forth his wand from his robes, dislodging the contents of his pocket in his haste to counter. He had no time to visually inspect what he had dropped.

Riddle threw a counter curse towards Tom, but the man simply leapt into the air, black wings propelling him upwards.

"You did not mention he became one of those things!" Voldemort hissed from his defensive position behind the statue.

"Because he hadn't last I saw him." countered Tom, eyes focused on Potter, who was hovering in the air. "I suppose he must have inherited Harry's powers on his death."

"Well you tell me, how do we stop him? I am under the assumption that there is some way to kill him if Harry died."

Tom Riddle paused. “Kill your own son?" he asked.

Lord Voldemort watched the figure hovering there, a dark look face on his face. "That thing is not my son."

 

Tom Potter watched from up on high as the two cowered underneath the statue.

_That's right, you should be afraid._

His power was limitless now. He could feel it his bones, his very blood.

His guardian had been mistaken. Harry Potter had tried to make the world a better place by interfering with time, trying to make small subtle changes. He had been so very wrong and misguided. Playing nice had done no one any favours. Then he had the audacity to go throw himself at the first look Tom Riddle gave him.

That had burned Tom Potter with a fury beyond words. But he had exacted his revenge on him. Now it was time to tie up the loose ends.

He called to them from his vantage point as he began to descend, wingbeats slowing. "No sense hiding, your time is done. The new age is here...my Legacy of Light has begun!"

A clearing of a throat echoed in the chamber, and the three combatants all turned to origin of the sound.

"That's where you are wrong, I'm afraid, Mr. Potter. No man claiming himself to being superior to others in the name of good, I find, _has_ good intentions."

Tom Potter blinked and found himself staring at another newcomer who had strode into the atrium.

"Dumbledore?"

 

"Dumbledore?!" snapped Voldemort from behind the statue.

Riddle gaped. It was true the animosity between him and the professor hadn't ended when he had left school, and in that (now rather embarrassing to him) episode when he had begged for a job at Hogwarts, the rage he had felt at the dismissal still simmered within him.

But he had risen above it, become Minister for Magic, and while Albus Dumbledore had sent his regrets and declined to attend his assumption to the position of Minister, he had been known to write to Tom from time to time, sending small notes of advice.

Now seeing him in the atrium facing down his son, (which was, even now, still a hard concept to grasp) Tom Riddle found himself questioning why he had seen this man as an enemy.

Dumbledore brandished a long wand, spectacled eyes locking with Potter's own black tinged green- “It was foolish to come here, Tom. The Aurors are on their way ―"

Tom Potter landed on the floor, wings folding behind him. "By which time I shall be gone, and you dead!"

Voldemort let out a strangled noise. Riddle stared at his companion.

"What?"

"Nevermind..." Lord Voldemort said wearily.

"I must say Tom, I expected better of you." Dumbledore shook his head. "You were given so many opportunities, and you have squandered them all in your lust for power."

Potter had an ugly look on his face. "Well, _Dumbledore_ , need I remind you that our society is dominated by men like him," he gestured at Riddle. "With antiquated notions of pure-blood supremacy. I am bringing about the change is needed in our world. I will make it a better place for everyone!"

"I am not saying that there are not issues, Tom." Dumbledore said, calmly. "However, true change comes from a difference of opinions, not everyone's like minded thinking."

"Unfortunately for you, it will be our like minded thinking for the foreseeable future." Tom said with a sneer, "We are finished with the tolerance of pure-blood supremacy. Welcome to the new world order, Albus!" The winged man drew out his holly wand, pointing it to the elder man. "You either join us or stand in our way."

"It's still Professor Dumbledore, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, firmly. "You haven't grown up from a schoolboy. This has gone on long enough. I am afraid it ends here."

"You are just as complicit as the rest of them, standing in my way," Tom glowered, “Time for you to taste what awaits those who stand by and do nothing. _CRUCI-"_

Riddle used his distraction to shoot a non-verbal disarming spell towards Tom's way. Tom Potter let out a curse, and flew backwards to avoid the red sparks, interrupting his spellwork, black wings furiously propelling him backwards.

"You never were patient, Tom Riddle. So unlike me," he raged, wings flapping once more and then tucking behind him, "I have waited for years in your shadow for my moment of glory. And now, instead of fulfilling my destiny, I must attend to you first. Such irony I face, granting you this much leniency in my presence."

"You make such large assumptions to your own self-worth," came the high-cold voice from behind Riddle, "I shall deal with you first, boy."

Lord Voldemort strode out in his black silks, shoulders locked forward aristocratically. His red slit eyes stared down their common foe, his lack of nose making the eyes appear ever brighter in the dim. A snarl was on his face, and in that terrible moment, Riddle saw how much Tom favoured this man. The two combatants faced each other, kindred malice in their countenances.

"And who are you?" Tom growled, moving his wand hand from pointing at Riddle to the Dark Lord. "Some freak of nature my brother's made a companion of?"

"A 'freak' who is going to put you in your rightful place- underneath your superiors' foot."

Lord Voldemort had no kind words for the boy, and Riddle did not blame him. _A freak_... the words taunted him as much as they did long ago in the orphanage. He wondered how much his future self had heard those same words and hated them.

Potter scowled but did not reply to Lord Voldemort. He looked to Riddle instead. "Any last words you'd like to say to your brave companion?"

"Don't fuck this up." Riddle replied. He thought he heard a snort from Dumbledore's direction, but he did not turn to look.

"Eloquent you are, Minister Riddle," Potter sneered. "A duel then, Mr.-" he gestured at Voldemort with his wand.

"Riddle." came the terse reply from the Dark Lord, and Potter's eyebrows creased in confusion.

"You are Riddle as well?"

 _"CRUCIO!"_ Lord Voldemort lashed out, and Potter fell to the ground in agony, flailing in pain. His pale mouth opened, as hoarse screams of pain echoed in the chamber. The Dark Lord pressed forward, wand extended as he kept the younger man pinned to the ground in pain

"No!" Riddle exclaimed, watching Tom roll in pain. Despite the conflict between them, despite everything that had happened- he did not wish this on the man he had called brother. Riddle rushed forward to grab Lord Voldemort's arm, as to stop the torture he was inflicting on his own son.

 _"Expelliarmus_!" came the strong voice of Albus Dumbledore from their right, and Voldemort's wand went flying out of his outstretched hand. The Dark Lord let out a roar of pure fury, whirling on the elder man.

"Even in another time you thwart me, Dumbledore!"

"This is not the way we deal with our opponents here, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore addressed him, holding Voldemort's wand in his own hand. He gave it a cursory inspection, and a look of surprise crossed his face behind his spectacles "This wand is-"

"Mine," hissed Lord Voldemort, long fingernails digging into his palms in suppressed rage. "Give it back to me, you wretched old man!" Dumbledore ignored this, looking to Riddle.

"We shall apprehend him and take him for judgement," Riddle concluded, not meeting his future counterpart's gaze, instead looking to Professor Dumbledore, who nodded to him. Riddle turned back, extending his wand out as he approached Tom lying on the ground.

The man was curled up in a fetal position, masking his head and eyes. His left wing was spread out against the floor, feebly swiping the ground. Riddle stood over him then, a heaviness in his heart as he pointed his wand down at Tom, staring at the man's heaving chest, unwilling to make eye-contact.

"I, Minister for Magic Riddle, hereby do put Tom Potter under arrest, and subjected to the full extent of Magical Law-"

But Riddle did not finish, as suddenly the whimpering black whirl struck. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his left leg, and his knee began to buckle under the surge of agony that accompanied it. Riddle looked down to his leg. A dagger, craftily hidden on Potter's own person, was unsheathed and buried deep in his thigh.

Riddle sank to the ground without so much a gasp, eyeing the familiar handle that protruded forth from his leg.

"Basilisk venom," Riddle gasped out to the observant audience. Then, he rolled to his back, eyes lifting up to the ceiling. Everything began to dizzily swirl, and Riddle could feel the cold stone underneath as his body began to spasm from the poison.

"Never thought it would be me the one to do it," came the rough voice of Tom Potter to his side, voice still hoarse from his earlier screams, "But you are too much of the problem, brother, as I am sure you understand. You will not die in vain, nor unaccompanied. Your friends will soon be joining you. And, of course, I'm sure Harry will be waiting for you too."

That was low, and too fresh for Riddle. Riddle lashed out with the last of his strength, slamming his fist into Tom's kneecap. Tom let out a curse, and stepped away, wings flapping for balance.

"Just die already!" he hissed.

 _"Stupefy!"_ came the voice of Dumbledore, and a red jet flashed forward, colliding into Tom's torso.

"Arrghhh!" Undefended, Potter was hit with the brunt of the spell. But it did not have the effect of stunning him. It did, however, throw him into a nearby wall, bricks crumbling with impact and sending him several rooms away.

Dumbledore then strode forward, the dim lights twinkling his spectacles.

"Give my wand back, old man!" cursed Voldemort, waving furiously at the downed Potter, who was struggling to rise underneath the bricks- "Do you want to die like him?" he then gestured to Tom Riddle on the ground, who was gasping for breath, veins in his neck purpling with colour.

"I would not cast such quick judgement, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore held two similar looking wands in his palm. "Though I do agree that he is grievously wounded."

"Wounded?" Voldemort snorted, "That is a basilisk fang- the only thing that is assured is of his timely death. The only thing that would help would be-"

"A phoenix." Dumbledore said tartly, "Time is wasting, Mr. Riddle. Give me your word you will not use an Unforgiveable against Mr. Potter, and I will return your wand."

Lord Voldemort made a choking noise, "You are mad. What makes you think I would agree to those terms?"

Riddle was dying, and he could not further take this animosity between the two, whatever the reason. At least not when he could be passing away in peace. "You sod, take the bloody wand or I'll come back and haunt you for eternity!"

"Lord Voldemort will not suffer a pathetic poltergeist-"

"JUST DO IT!" howled Riddle from the ground. His hands immediately went to his neck as it began to close, air strangulating in his throat. Everything was feeling rather numb and cold. The pain in his leg had ebbed off, despite still being punctured with the dagger. Riddle began to blink his eyes rapidly as the world began to swirl once again and darken.

 _This is the end,_ he thought grimly, _killed by my own kindness._

He shut his eyes, and breathed out one final breath, and felt his body still.

 

He was standing at King's cross station. Well, what looked like King's cross station. A white fog blanketed the station, headed in all directions. There were a scant few benches, lamps, and signs, but nothing moved in the stillness aside from him.

"Hello?" Riddle stated, verifying that he was alone in the foyer. He could see the railroad tracks extending out from where he stood up on a platform into the whiteness, but no souls were about, save his.

 _Everything was rather white coloured,_ Riddle reflected as he walked further into the station. Even the wooden benches had a snowy- white tinge to them. Riddle wondered where and how he had ended up in this white fog, and yet-

_I'm dead._

The finality of that thought made Tom Riddle slump his shoulders. He had failed to stop Tom Potter, and now was somewhere that must be the afterlife.

"You're a bit early, Tom Marvolo Riddle."

Riddle paused, looking to the source of the sound that came from within the station. He saw the young man then, standing below the tall standing clock at the station. He was wearing the robes of Gryffindor house, circle spectacles, and bright green eyes. There was a brown suitcase perched next to his feet, with a snowy white owl on top of it. The smile he was giving, while tinged with sadness, gave the man some comfort in the moment.

"Harry Potter." he said in what must have been half a sigh. The youthful man standing across from him nodded, eyes creasing in what seemed like suppressed happiness. The owl moved across the suitcase to stare at him unrepentant with bright yellow eyes.

"I admit, I am glad to see you," Harry said, the sad smile still on his face, “But I'd rather it not be here, as I'm sure you understand."

"Nor I." Riddle approached him, and stopped directly in front of Harry, looking down into the jade green eyes that were staring into his own. The owl below hooted.

"Where are my manners-" Harry said, looking directly into Riddle's eyes as he gestured a hand down to the parcel, "Tom, this is Hedwig-"

Riddle grabbed Harry by the shoulders and dragged him up for a fierce kiss. Potter, to his credit, did not back away or struggle- instead, he met just as fiercely into the kiss as anyone could have wanted. The owl gave off a small shriek, and flew up into station, perching on the top of the clock the two stood below.

While Harry was unresisting, Tom came to his senses, and released the other-running long, spindly fingers through his own hair. "Shouldn't have done that," he said apologetically. The owl above seemed to agree, hooting in reproach. Harry let out a laugh, which warmed Riddle's weary heart.

"Potter...Harry, my love. My soul. My spirit. My strength." Riddle rambled, taking Harry's hands in his own, "I never told you how I truly felt about you, about us." He looked to his surroundings, expecting spectators, but none were to be found. "Alas, I waited until meeting in eternity."

Harry's hands, warm, squeezed together within his own. "Tom Riddle. Waxing love poetry. You truly must be dead." Harry gave a small squirm, and stepped back, hands freeing themselves. The green eyes glinted with emotion. "As much as it pains me, I must talk to you about Tom."

"Our son."

"My son," Potter said with a sigh. "I was so afraid of his heritage that I kept him in the dark."

Riddle blanched. "As you did me."

"Do you think you would have been able to handle knowing the truth?" Harry asked sagely, looking up towards Hedwig, who was absentmindedly grooming her feathers.

Riddle, as much as he was loath to admit it, replied: "No, I would not."

"I tried to save him." Harry Potter said sadly, gaze returning to Riddle. "I kept him away from his father. Fear made me do it. I did not want another Lord Voldemort to rise, and I had my fears that it would be you but then... " Harry closed his eyes. "Then it was him."

"So glad of your confidence." A pang of irritation ran through Riddle, which he squashed. "Potter, we have all of eternity to talk about this."

"No, we do not." Harry said insistently. But then a curious expression appeared on his face. "Did you face Tom alone?"

"That testy bugger Voldemort is currently battling Tom alongside Dumbledore in the Ministry of Magic. I really do not see what you saw in him." Riddle scoffed, expecting Harry to agree.

This wasn't the case.

"Really? How?" Harry gave a shocked expression then, his eyes opening and expressing a surge of happiness, "With Dumbledore? But why?"

"With a bloody time turner. He responded when I mentioned you."

Harry's face gave a deep expression of longing, and now it was him acting shy, "What… what did he say about me?"

Riddle did not have an answer to that. _Now why am I jealous?_

Miffed, Riddle added with a tinge of annoyance, "He did not say anything. He is a self-centered, callous, egotistical man. You have poor taste."

"Not untrue," Harry laughed again reproachfully. "Ron Weasley would have liked you, had you ever met him. Good friend of mine. You both have a dry sense of humor."

Tom shook his head, giving Harry’s hands a firm squeeze, and reluctantly letting them go.

"You mentioned Tom Potter."

Harry slapped the front of his forehead. "The whole reason you are here. Yes, Hedwig!"

Potter whistled, and Hedwig screeched then from above, flying down to their level and landing on Harry's outstretched arm. The magnificent snowy owl gave a hoot, looking towards her master.

"I need you to go to Fawkes." Harry instructed the bird, who blinked baleful eyes at Riddle. The bird gave him a sullen expression then, which was strange for a bird.

"It's an emergency."

"Who?" replied Hedwig.

"Him." Harry insisted, pointing at Riddle. The great owl hooted displeasure, half-spreading her snow-white wings, fanning them for a moment. Harry dropped his arm then, and with that gave a furious pull up, launching Hedwig high into the air. The bird ascended with furious flaps, until it was out of their sight. Riddle looked down to Harry.

"Were you talking to the bird?"

"Would that change your opinion of me if I was?"

"Coloured me impressed." Riddle responded, without rancor, "But what about Tom?"

"His weakness. To defeat him, you must be able to reach him. There’s a shred of the boy we both loved in there.” Harry’s mouth was pulled into a small-smile, “And I couldn’t reach it. He was too angry to be reasoned with.”

“ _Murdering_ you is not what I would call reasoning.” Riddle grumbled.

“Perhaps not,” Harry said, a thoughtful expression flickering across his face, “But that’s where those who care for him will succeed. Such as-“

“Your blasted Lord Voldemort- “Riddle interrupted crossly.

“Both of you,” Harry lit up, “working together. You have charisma. Ambition. Cunning. Resourcefulness.”

“Are you advertising Slytherin House?”

Harry shrugged. “The hat almost put me in Slytherin. Let’s say for the sake of argument, I can identify.”

A whoosh of wings, and the snowy owl returned, holding a long, scarlet feather. She back-winged neatly over them, and dropped the feather in Harry’s outstretched hands, until she quickly alighted on Harry’s shoulder, talons gripping firm.

“I suppose that’s a good thing I can’t feel that anymore,” Harry said with a small laugh, but a tinge of sadness was in his smile. “It’s nice to be with her again.”

“And you,” agreed Riddle. He dearly wanted to run his long fingers down the snow-white feathers, but he imagined the action would result in a lost finger. Instead, he half-turned to look down the white expanse, but still, they were the only two souls about.

 _Wherever we are in the afterlife, I would have thought it would be busier_ , he mused.

“I have to say, I wished I would have seen the look on Potter’s face when he’s defeated. It would be priceless to see that self-centered prick put in his place.”

“Ah, but you will.” Now Harry was giving a wry smile. “Tom, you can’t stay here.” Harry had been alluding to this, but Riddle had thought him only to be speaking in metaphor.

“Harry. I’m dead. I go where you go now.”

“Basilisk venom can be healed.” Harry commented, holding a red feather up in front of his bespectacled eyes; green glinting as the feather separated his jade gaze in two, “By Phoenix tears.”

“No one has those, Harry.”

“Fawkes does. He’s with you now.”

“The phoenix? How do you know? How can you see?” Tom looked around but was not privy to whatever Harry Potter could see.

“I’ve crossed over, Tom Riddle. You haven’t yet. I wouldn’t let you.” Harry extended his hand out, splaying the fingers across Tom’s cheek. He cupped his chin then, drawing Riddle down for a kiss. “I called him to you. Now he calls you back.” His lips pressed against Tom’s.

Riddle reciprocated, but then began to feel a tugging sensation around his hips. He abruptly broke the kiss, despairingly looking to Potter as he felt an invisible tug pulling him away, “No… I don’t want to leave you.”

“It’s not your time yet, Tom Riddle.” Harry leaned forward, pulling Riddle’s head down, to kiss him one last time. “Go.”

And without notice, the owl, Harry Potter, and the Platform… was no more.


	26. Chapter 26

Coming back to life was, in Tom Riddle’s opinion, more violent than passing from it.

“Ah-sssssssssssss!” he exclaimed, dry eyes frantically blinking to restore some form of moisture. He began to cough violently as lungs that had stilled began to re-expand. Everything began to sting, as blood once again flowed to his extremities. It was akin to a body limb “falling asleep -“except the sensation was his entire body. Riddle curled into a fetal position on the ground as the pain spasmed through his body.

“So pathetic!” a voice rang out, but Riddle couldn’t distinguish who spoke it. He fumbled for his wand, but either it had moved, or been taken. His view was now a blurry set of colors, and he saw a large, red blur nearby where he assumed his leg was.

He remembered what Harry had said to him- “Fwaks?” he croaked instead, his voice coming out muffled.

The red blur shifted up and down. He could perhaps make out the brown hilt of the basilisk dagger, clutched in its claws. The bird then bounded up and away from Riddle, until it was out of sight.

_I’m going to guess that was Fawkes._

The room began to swirl into focus, and Riddle felt life coursing through his body. He sucked in a fresh, painful gasp of air as he forced himself to sit up. The man wanted to retch, but there was nothing in his body.

_All I want is to lie down and make this pain go away._

He pressed his hands onto the ground, pushing it away from him. He took a step backward, which ended up being the smartest thing he had done yet- as a flash of a spell went past where he had once stood.

This spell, unfortunately, came from Voldemort.

“Get out of my way!” the Dark Lord growled, as Riddle swirled around, to see Tom Potter up on high, holding Dumbledore hostage.

Dumbledore looked perfectly calm, as if being held aloft by a maniacal foe was an everyday occurrence. Riddle observed that the Hogwarts headmaster had two wands pointed at his throat. One was Potter’s, and others must have been Dumbledore’s own.

“Kill Dumbledore, brat, and resume your duel with me!” snapped the Dark Lord.

“Let Albus go, Tom.” Riddle countered, as the Dark Lord shot him a nasty look. “He’s not part of this.”

“Who cares about the old man,” sneered Voldemort. “Clearly the boy is a better duelist. Kill him for his uselessness in battle.”

“Death is only the beginning of the greatest adventure.” Dumbledore said calmly, still looking for all the world if he was sitting in a café, rather than being held aloft, “I would prefer that you did not, Mr. Potter, as I am afraid I have many more things needed to be accomplished in my lifetime.”

“Shut up!” Potter dug the two wands into Dumbledore’s throat, and the elder man quieted. “Brother,” Potter addressed Riddle now, “You have once again escaped death. Clearly it takes more than basilisk venom to kill you.”

“I’m hard man to kill, Potter.”

“Clearly,” his doppelganger repeated, dead pan. “How fortunate you came back to watch me dispatch of your favorite professor. Don’t worry. Next will be your friend, and then you.”

“Now you know that is not true,” Tom Riddle said wryly, shrugging nonchalantly. “My favorite professor? I thought you knew me better. He’s no Horace Slughorn.”

“Slughorn!? Are you mad?” Potter blurted, his dark façade fading.

The distraction was all Riddle needed. In that half-second, he had leapt into the air. Given his height and physical ability, he was in the air high enough to latch on Potter’s ankle. The winged man, in distracted panic, let go of Dumbledore. The older man, to his credit, gracefully fell to the ground like a sparrow out of a tree.

But Riddle was latched firmly on Tom’s ankle, and the man let out string of curses, his wings flapping madly with the additional weight.

This was Voldemort’s opportunity. Suddenly a red jet of light careened towards them both, sending both the Minister for Magic and Light Lord tumbling through the air. Wands scattered, and the force of the magic sent both Toms careening into the adjacent room.

Tom Potter roared in fury, and with a swipe of his wings, smacked away Riddle. He shakily stood, rising with his wand.

Riddle didn’t give him the chance. He sprinted back, lunging towards the wand held by Potter. He managed to grasp it, pulling it towards his body. Potter pulled towards himself as well. The wand crackled with unbidden magic. This physical tug-of-war may have continued, but then the undeniable presence of Lord Voldemort and Dumbledore, now reunited with his wand, streamed into the room.

“ _Crucio_!” cursed Voldemort.

“ _Stupefy_!” said Dumbledore.

Riddle winced, expecting an impact.

_Bloody Hel-_

But when he opened his eyes, neither him nor Potter were in the room anymore.

A ticking noise, originating from somewhere in the room, broke the silence. The two men stared at each other, both still grasping the same wand in the centre of the Time room. Potter looked dumbfounded. Riddle realized what happened. _He transported himself away from danger... just like Harry._

A yank was all it took, and Tom Riddle was in command of the holly wand. He took a few long steps backwards, pointing the wand at his opponent.

The two stared across the expanse of the dimly room, the eerie shine of the time-turners glowing in the gloom. Only facing each other did Tom Riddle fully take in his once brother’s appearance.

The man, despite his evolved status, seemed winded. He wasn't breathing, much akin to Harry. His skin, having been pale in life, had a moonlit shine to it. His hair was no different than it had been when they were schoolboys, and the face that stared back, glowering, was identical to his own.

But most noticeable was the eyes. Riddle had never studied Tom Potter’s eyes too closely, but now he could not draw his gaze away. The sclera, pitch black, was ghoulish in the dim light. The pupils, however, gleamed in the small light that there was, an electric yellow-green glow that was animalistic and wild.

There was only one other person that had such inhuman eyes.

“You have your mother's eyes.” Riddle said softly.

Tom scowled, his eyes narrowing into slits. “You don't know that.”

Potter flapped his wings and crouched. “Farewell, Tom Marvolo RIDDLE!” At the shout, Potter leapt forward, winged appendages thrust forward as he leapt towards the Minister for Magic. He was so fast, and yet…

" _EXPELLIARMUS_!" bellowed Tom Riddle in response, the holly wand crackling with red spell power as it charged directly at Potter. The spell aimed true, and Potter went flying backwards in the Time Room, straight into the stationary case of the time-turners with a sickening _CRACK._ Upon impact, the time-turners wobbled and fell, spilling out from their confinement.

A half dozen time turners became entangled on Tom's body, looped around his neck, his arms. At their initial movement, they had begun to spin. Disorientated, Potter's wings flapped out helplessly as he attempted to rise.

Riddle ran to his side, seeing the turners begin to glow- "Tom, don't move."

But the man didn't listen. Instead he gave a shriek of rage, and kicked out at Riddle, still half-kneeling on the ground. His eyes narrowed hatefully, and he drew his arms upwards, as if to touch the ceiling above them.

Then, with a sneer, he vanished.  But no sooner than he did that did he suddenly reappear, a bewildered expression now on his face.

Then he vanished again.

Tom Riddle watched this happen several more times. Each time Potter would reappear he would let out an aggrieved yell. But then another time-turner would spin, and he would warp out.

Eventually, he did not come back.

 

"Tom." Riddle murmured, staring at the spot where the man had vanished. He heard the footsteps of two distinct individuals behind him. He did not face them.

"What happened?" said Lord Voldemort.

Tom Riddle let out a sigh, but it was Dumbledore who spoke.

"He has fallen into time itself."

"Elaborate." said Voldemort, flicking his cat-like eyes over to the distraught Tom Riddle.                                               

"He fell into the Time turners," Tom began slowly, "and then he tried to travel using his own time magic. Several activated time turners were on him when he went." He shook his head, running a hand through his hair. "The magic did not interact happily."

"He is now a prisoner of his own abilities." finalized Dumbledore, eyeing the remaining turners, still warping and re-appearing where they fell. "He is trapped in a never-ending time cycle, unable to free himself."

Voldemort approached the time-turners now. His bare feet stood in front of the closest warping time-turner, close enough that he could touch it with a toenail. "Once again the time-turners all are destroyed."

Riddle glared. "Our son is suffering a fate worse than death and all you care about are the time-turners?"

"Nothing lasts forever." argued Voldemort. "If he truly was the son of the most powerful wizard alive, he will free himself." Then Voldemort's red eyes widened, as if he realized to what he had said.

"Nothing lasts forever?" quoted Dumbledore, curiosity tinging his voice.

"Don't read too much into it, Dumbledore." snapped Voldemort.

Despite it all, Tom Riddle felt the smallest hint of a smile tug on his face at his counterpart's words. It felt like a lifetime ago, when he said those very same words to...

Then his face fell once more, and he looked at the ground, feeling a wave of emotion too powerful to name run through him. Dumbledore put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"You tried."

"This sentimentality towards me is nauseating." Lord Voldemort was watching him, a clearly unhappy expression on his face. "It is time I returned to my own time, before I watch _you_ embrace _me_ in some attempt at comfort."

Tom Riddle dipped his free hand into his pocket, feeling for his time turner. It was missing. "It must have fallen out when I left the atrium," he muttered, moving to go get it.

"Spare me." Voldemort snarled. "I will retrieve it myself." He stalked away, as making to leave them.

Dumbledore let a small cough. Voldemort whirled in the doorway. "Do you have something to add, Dumbledore?" he sneered. "I am taking the time-turner and leaving. It is my right."

"Nothing, unless this was what you were looking for?" He held out in his hand ... _the time-turner._

Riddle let out an intake of breath. "But-how did you acquire my time-turner? I did not give it to you...nor did I see you pick it up?"

Dumbledore gave him a cool look. "Minister Riddle, how do you think I got here in the first place, precisely at the correct time, to assist you?"

Riddle blinked. As a matter of fact, it had not occurred to him at all how Dumbledore had known to come at the right time and place. "Are you saying...you used my time-turner yourself?"

Dumbledore hummed.

"Simply put, Minister Riddle, I was summoned." He then drew forth a pocket watch, looking at the time. "To be exact, in seven minutes."

"Summoned..?" Riddle asked, "But how...?"

"A rather unusual Patronus charm accosted me in my quarters. " Dumbledore replied. "It insisted that I would find a time-turner abandoned in the atrium. It told me take it, and in doing so, to turn it to precisely three quarters past four this very morning. It stressed the gravity of the situation. "

Dumbledore paused, letting the information sink. "As such, I could not stand by at such an urgent plea for help. But alas, here we are." His eyes twinkled in that moment. "I am sure you understand what this means you must do, Tom."

Tom Riddle shook his head. "It is impossible. I cannot do the Patronus charm."

"Minister Riddle, to do so requires a positive memory, a thought so powerful-"

"I am aware of what it takes to cast a Patronus." snapped Riddle, "I could not do one now even if I tried. All I can think about is how I lost Harry and my broth...my son."

Dumbledore considered him, finally letting out a slow nod. Tom let out a breath he did not know he was holding. "I understand, Minister." He then looked at Voldemort.

"What?" snapped Lord Voldemort. "I am taking the time-turner so I can leave."

"Not before you summon me here." Dumbledore waved a finger, still holding the dangling time turner. "It is imperative to the consistency of this timeline."

The Dark Lord blanched. "You cannot be insinuating I sent you a Patronus?"

"That is exactly what I am telling you."

Voldemort angrily turned his gaze to the despondent Riddle, who was staring at the floor. "Tell him to do it."

Dumbledore shook his head. "Mr. Riddle is unfortunately not in the correct state of mind to do so. It must be you."

"I do not have a happy memory to summon you, Dumbledore." Voldemort hissed.

Tom Riddle was looking at his feet, gazing at the murky figure staring up at him from the floor. As he saw his reflection in the flooring, he was reminded of how he had thought Tom Potter was his brother, that Tom had come from the same father, that they had shared the same blood-

He suddenly shot his head up, inspired. "I can give you one."

"What could you possibly-" Voldemort started, but Tom Riddle ignored him.

"As he lay dying, Harry's parting words to me were of how ...he cared for you." Tom began, a tightness pulling in his chest. Dumbledore gave a nod of silent encouragement.

"He threw himself off a balcony to get away from me. That does not indicate _care_." the Dark Lord bit out. Tom shook his head. "He did that because he was upset of what you had done-"

Now Voldemort looked incensed. "What I did? The boy has no idea what I _did_ -"

" _Had_ no idea. Harry Potter is dead."  Riddle's grey eyes locked with his counterpart's red, having come to terms with the bitter truth of his words. "But despite it all he... _she_ bore you a son."

"And your point?" Voldemort snapped.

"Harry was the Master of _Death_. It wasn't in his nature to bring life. If anything, it was to take it." Riddle inspected Harry's wand then, rolling it between his fingers. It soothed him.

Voldemort stared, as if that thought hadn't occurred to him. He looked Riddle straight in his grey eyes. "And how does this make me happy?" he said in a low voice.

"Because it was love of you that created your son,” Riddle said, a calm awareness washing over him. "He made it possible because _he loved you_. It was… _always…_ you."

Lord Voldemort then slowly lowered his head, until he was staring at the floor. His red eyes closed for a moment, and lines of stress appeared on his bald, white forehead. Pale, spidery fingers his wand loosely. Tense seconds passed.

He picked up his arm then, not looking at Tom Riddle or Dumbledore. " _Expecto Patronum_." he said, quietly.

A flash of silvery light appeared in the room, morphing from Lord Voldemort's wand. It flew around the room in a circular wave, and then landed, pacing forward.

It was a silver, magnificently maned lion. It lifted its regal head to observe the three men, then turned its noble brow to face Voldemort, tail twitching in expectation.

Voldemort didn't look at it.

"Find Dumbledore. Tell him he must go to the Ministry immediately. He will find an unaccompanied time turner in the atrium. He must turn it to precisely three quarters past four this morning. He will then meet Tom Riddle in the foyer of the Ministry of Magic." Lord Voldemort then lifted his head, cat-like slits locking on Dumbledore. "The life of the Minister and the lives of the many innocent are in jeopardy."

The lion gave a shake of its mane, then pounced into the air, running past the three men until it vanished into the wall.

"Innocent?" stated Dumbledore, knowingly.

"You would not have come unless I worded it that way." Voldemort extended his long fingers out to Dumbledore. "Now give me the time-turner."

Dumbledore strode forward, placing the time-turner in Lord Voldemort's hand. He pressed his hand down into the others palm as he gave it to him.

"Do not forget what you learned here." said Dumbledore.

Voldemort paused. "This changes nothing, Dumbledore. I still have you killed and I am immortal."

"Nothing lasts forever. Only love."

"That is not possible for me." Lord Voldemort said softly. "Not anymore."

He took the time-turner in his long fingers and turned it several times. He then vanished in a flash of light.

Riddle looked to Dumbledore, "You let him go, even after he told you he has you killed?"

"It already had been done at this point, so in that regard, it is unavoidable." he let out a small sigh. "Someone will eventually rise to stop him. Perhaps not immediately, perhaps in an odd, distant future, but somehow, somewhen, he will be stopped."

"How are you so certain?"

"Faith." replied Dumbledore.

The two men walked quietly from the Time room, as the clock chimed at seven-o'clock. They walked into the atrium, until they saw-

"There I am." said Dumbledore cheerfully.

Tom Riddle watched Dumbledore's past self knelt down to the ground, holding a Time-turner in his hands. He was twisting the turner, and Tom could see him counting the turns under his breath.

The wizard vanished.

"Well, we are now assured of... _my_ success." Dumbledore said.

Tom Riddle paused. Tom Potter's reign had closed. The wizarding world was now free of his threat and would wake up this morning in the knowledge that the terror of the Light Lord had ended.

And yet...he had lost so much.

"Sacrifices have been made, and they are not unnoticed by me, Mr. Riddle." Dumbledore placed a hand on Riddle’s shoulder. "Should you ever require it, Hogwarts will always have an open door for you."

"I have obligations to the Ministry." Tom said quietly.

"I understand." Dumbledore said, squeezing his shoulder. "But perhaps one day you may find you need it."

Riddle sighed. He had a Ministry to run. A body to bury. And a lifetime to wonder if he had done the right thing.

"Remember Tom," Dumbledore then said, breaking the silence, "Hogwarts will always be there to welcome you home."

 

1991

Tom Riddle tugged at his tie for the umpteenth time that morning, still wondering if his appearance met the expectations of a Hogwarts professor.

_I was Minister for Magic for nearly twenty years, and I am worrying about a tie?_

He paused in his reflection, looking at his hair. It now had traces of silver in it. As a wizard, he had aged slower than perhaps was customary for Muggles, so he looked a handsome fifty then the sixty-five odd years that he had on him. But the silver was a reminder of the inevitably of age.

_Enough._

Riddle left the mirror. He passed by the three bedrooms, making his way down the staircase.

"Like kids these days even care-" he said to no one in particular. He drew forth his Yew wand, waving his hand. His suitcase immediately flew down to him from where it had been lying in his room. He gripped the leather handle in his hand and made his way to the door.

On the way, he knocked over the silver urn. He glared at it, irritated.

" _You_ are not making me late." But he bent down, scooping it up in his hands, and gently placed it back on its perch. Riddle straightened it, ensuring it was perfectly aligned in the centre of the table.

After that, he approached the door, opening it wide to the crisp September air. He breathed in the fresh scent of the elms.

"To King's Cross." he said finally. He closed his eyes, willing himself to the Platform.

 

_Platform 9 3/4, King's Cross, London_

 "Mum, I've lost my toad again."

"Oh _Neville_."

Riddle paused, recognizing the boy's mother.

Longbottom.

The Longbottoms were eventually acquitted, he recalled. They had pledged their cause to the Light Lord, but eventually it had been found they had changed sides when his favour with them had ended.

_But they also had the risk of their child's future to motivate them._ thought Tom. Children did strange things to people.

He decided to avoid a potentially embarrassing situation by passing around them. He made his way over to a group of children, who were huddled around a boy with dreadlocks.

"Give us a look Lee, go on." they egged.

The boy lifted the box he was holding, and something inside it poked out a long, hairy leg. The children shrieked.

_Unbelievable._

Riddle made his way to the frontmost carriage. Thankfully the parents were so enraptured with their children's departure that no one had stopped him. He witnessed a group of red-haired children and their harried looking mother boarding the train two compartments from the front.

"Aaah, does ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose?" teased a red-haired twin. Riddle rolled his eyes, passing the group as he approached a large clock in the centre of the platform.

He eyed the clock's hands. Ten minutes until departure. Tom dropped his eyes below the clock, and he then-

He hesitated.

A tall man with untidy hair and glasses, accompanied by a red-haired woman, were standing underneath the large clock. They were not alone- three other men were with them, and they were jostling each other, joking to themselves.

But that was not why Tom Marvolo Riddle had paused.

It was the boy the small group was surrounding. He also had black, untidy hair. He was not facing towards Tom, but he knew he would have bright jade eyes behind circular glasses.

"Now remember what we told you, Harry-" said the boy's father.

"The easiest way to get to Hogsmeade is by the statue of the One-Eyed Witch." the boy dutifully responded.

"Right-O Harry," said an accompanying bearded man, with long, black hair tied around his face. "And the password is?"

"Dissendium."

The boy's mother had been talking to light-browned hair man astride her husband. At her son's response, she turned towards the two men, quirking an eyebrow over her green eye.

"James, Sirius, what did I tell you about telling Harry how to get out of Hogwarts? He is _eleven_."

A heavier set man standing adjacently to them all lifted a hand, "Oh no, Lily, Harry would never do that-"

"Oh yes I would." said Harry.

"You two are terrible influences on him." said the red-haired woman exasperatedly towards Sirius and her husband. The man called Sirius shrugged, "He takes after his godfather."

The train gave a whistle. Five minutes.

"Now Harry, go do your best." The woman hugged her son. "Make lots of friends. Make good choices."

"Make sure you visit the Shrieking Shack when you get to Hogsmeade." added Sirius.

The light brown-haired man punched Sirius in the shoulder.

"Just a joke, Moony, just a joke!"

The boy turned away, pushing his cart towards the platform until he was near Tom’s own compartment.  Riddle paused as the boy paused, lifting green eyes to him inquisitively. "Is this the right carriage, sir?"

"Professor Riddle," he replied, much calmer than he felt, "And you will want to go two more down. I believe you will encounter a certain Weasley boy and his brood."

The boy's eyes widened expressively, and he then nodded. He faced back to his cart, preparing to push it away.

"Oh, and Harry?" added Riddle. Harry turned back towards him. Tom's eyes flicked to his scar-less forehead.

"Professor Riddle?"

There were a million things that crossed his mind. A memory of a man with green and black eyes, his son, and the world they had both condemned and tried to save.

"Welcome to Hogwarts." he said.

The boy blinked, and then gave him a warm smile. He pushed the cart away, and Riddle observed him boarding the third carriage.

Tom Riddle lifted his head, feeling a cool breeze brush his cheek. He closed his eyes, smiling to himself the first time in many years. A certain sense of peace settled within him.

_All was well._

He boarded the train, and rode it to the next chapter of his life.

 

_Three things will last forever―faith, hope, and love―and the greatest of these is love._

_1 Corinthians 13:13_

_New Living Translation (NLT)_

 

 

Sources:

_Lion Patronus:_

_The Lion King, Disney (1994)_

<https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Lion_King>

_Dialogue/Scene from: Harry Potter Series(1997-)_

'The Longbottoms were eventually acquitted'- Referring to the Malfoy Family-Harry Potter Series (1997 _-)_

_Ending Song: Civil War Songs: The Red Cavalry/Beyond the River/Hello, On the Way -The Red Army Choir_

<https://youtu.be/zRgviX5hE8Q>


	27. Chapter 27

_Epilogue:_

It was how he spent most nights in his new world order: alone.

Lord Voldemort crossed drawing the room on light feet, shadows ever awakening around the fireplace. The man drew himself to a burgundy plush armchair, surveying the room as he eventually sat before the fire. The orange and reds burned brightly, and the man’s interest was drawn to the flames crackling along the wood.

As the Dark Lord felt himself begin to relax, he drew his hands down to his sides. A small poke greeted his hand, jogging him from his drifting state. Voldemort's spidery fingers entered his pocket, and he drew forth a small stone embedded in a ring. Observing it in front of the fireplace, he could see the etching of the Deathly Hallows on its black face.

 _Take it,_ a voice had whispered, as Tom Riddle had offered him the ring…. before the encounter that determined the fate of his other half’s world.

“What good do you me?” Voldemort observed the stone critically, “You are from another world. You do not host my soul.”

The stone ring was silent, but there was warmth in its body. Voldemort turned the stone several times in his long fingers, inspecting the wear and tear. After he felt satisfied at its inspection, he laid it to rest on the armrest of his chair, fingers holding it against the fabric.

The man leaned back, exhaling through his snake-like slits. His red cat eyes lidded, and lulled by the fire, he allowed himself to drift. Lord Voldemort relaxed his body. He felt the black stone escape his grip, tumbling to the ground and glittering in the flames of the room. Unbothered, he began to close his eyes.

There was a sound of faint footsteps, a whispering… and Voldemort felt a rough tug throughout his body. He disregarded it.

Moments passed. Had the Dark Lord been paying more attention, he may have noticed that across the room, an antique record player creaking slowly to life. The dusty needle clicked open loose, and moved inwards, resting on a large disc. After a small screech, the player came to life, filling the room with song.

Lord Voldemort's eyes widened in wakeful surprise, as the player belted music. Cursing, Voldemort drew forth his wand, to put the offending object out of its misery. 

“Interesting choice of song, Tom.” a voice answered from the doorway.

Lord Voldemort gracefully rose to his feet, extending his wand out and pointing it to an obscured figure standing near the door. “Show yourself.” he demanded.

The shadowed figure stepped forward into the light, familiar eyes staring into Voldemort's own. Long, black hair spilled around a heart-shaped face.

The Dark Lord stared. “Who are you?”

The woman gave a serene smile, eyes gleaming green in the firelight. “I think you know who I am.”

Voldemort took a small step forwards, as the woman did as well, to close the gap. The two stared into each other’s eyes, as Lord Voldemort found the jade pupils gazing into his own. The music, soft, continued unbidden.

“How is this possible?” Lord Voldemort asked quietly.

“Does that matter? ‘The woman stepped before him, and the Dark Lord felt his arms wind around her back, instinctively. ”Dance with me.”

 _Clearly I am going mad_ _._

“Is this happening inside my head?” The Dark Lord spun his partner, the two in tandem to the song. “What makes this real?”

The woman gave her lover a genuine smile then, placing a cool hand on his cheek, “Of course it's happening inside your head, Tom Riddle, but who's to say that it's not real?”

“Why do you appear this way before me now?” Voldemort asked, as the woman twirled, black hair sliding from one shoulder to the other. “And not in your true form?”

“This was your choice, Tom,” she replied, her countenance expressing sympathy.

A panging sensation ran through his body, and Lord Voldemort admitted then- “To see you as I last saw you-”

“You're not quite ready,”” she finished, giving a chaste kiss to his cool lips. “I don't mind.”

Lord Voldemort and his paramour continued to slowly waltz across the room, as the music began to upbeat in tempo, “This song sounds familiar,” the woman interrupted, after moments passed in graceful silence, “Like from a movie.”

“It is the Ländler,” Voldemort commented, as he aggressively strode- “An Austrian waltz.”

“Ah.”

The two quietly parted, as Voldemort then paced around her. She curtsied, then kicked her foot out as he paired around her. Somehow, the timeless steps of the dance channeled through their bodies, willingly, knowingly, in this Twilight Realm.

“You are forgetting one thing,” Lord Voldemort added, as the music began to soften.

“And what is that?” the woman asked, as Voldemort quietly approached. She titled her head up, as if to kiss: The Dark Lord stared down menacingly, towering over the smaller woman.

“Your place… _boy._ ”

The woman’s eyes widened suddenly as she transformed. The scenery changed. No longer was it the drawing room of the manor, but the Great Hall of Hogwarts.

Lord Voldemort swept him into his embrace. The music began to crescendo, the room filled with song; and then it was Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort, the two men dancing in time to the music of the Ländler, swirling in cloaks as they entered the spirit of the waltz.

The tables were empty, the candles were lit, and Voldemort and his partner whirled and swirled and vigorously danced to the front of the hall as the music resounded in time with their footsteps.

Harry Potter gasped in surprise, and the music once again softened, the crescendo ending to gently guide them to a slower waltz.

“How did you-?”

“You said it was _my_ choice.”

Harry’s eyebrows raised, but then softened, as Lord Voldemort quietly led the dance to the centre of the room. Across the halls, the banners of Ravenclaw, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor gently waved from their respective hung positions as they passed by.

“And at Hogwarts no less.” Harry smiled, as the song slowed. They continued to dance in silence for a few moments, as Lord Voldemort pressed a kiss to Harry’s brow, where the lightning scar originated. Harry smiled at that, closing his eyes.

The two broke apart, for Harry Potter to give a bow in deference to his partner’s rank. Lord Voldemort inclined his head, and outstretched his arm, for Harry to wrap his arm around. Potter gave a warm smile, inserting his arm into the offered arm. The Dark Lord escorted Potter to the Head Table, the two men pacing together in rhythm to the dwindling, softer music.

“Harry Potter. Somehow, across space and time, you have returned to me.”

The boy looked him over, from where he hung onto his arm: “Ah but Tom, you have come to me,” Harry was now giving him a pitying look, “And I am here to take you.”

Lord Voldemort did not quite understand, but he had a suspicion. “Take me?”

Harry Potter sighed, unraveling his arm from where he was being escorted, and ascended the stairs, until he was standing above Lord Voldemort. “You knew this day would come, eventually.”

Lord Voldemort’s red eyes widened in sudden realization: “You cannot mean…”

Harry bowed his head, in sympathy, “They found the last horcrux, Tom. Then they found you. It’s over.”

 _Nagini…._ Lord Voldemort thought of a woman with sad eyes, who died in service to him.  “She did not deserve death.”

“Does anyone?” Harry Potter echoed, his eyes glinting with love and hate, “Did my parents? Did yours?”

Lord Voldemort stared off, then glared back at Harry, without anything to say. 

“You tried to kill me multiple times,” Harry reflected. “And yet I love you no less.”

“Why?” Voldemort asked, “I do not love.”

Harry Potter laughed then, and while Voldemort would never admit it to anyone, it filled him with some warm, nameless emotion. “But you do. In your own way. You won’t admit it. I would expect no less from the man who gave life to my son.”

“And to his fate?”

“He will be freed,” Potter said, giving a curious look, “You are interested in his welfare?”

“He was all I had left of you.”

“And what I took of you.” Harry descended the steps, his long robes trailing down the stairs, “Our love, together, created Tom Potter. Love will one day set him free.”

“I do not know if I should worry on that day or not.”

“We no longer have those concerns, Tom Marvolo Riddle.”

Lord Voldemort grit his teeth, “I insist, Potter, you do not call me that.”

Suddenly, the great hall of Hogwarts swept away from the two, and Voldemort tripped over his robes as the world tightened, pulled, and expanded: and now they were in a white world; what looked like the Platform to Hogwarts at King’s Cross Station. It was devoid of life, save a bench and a clock, which was permanently set on 12:00. He gracefully stood up after a wobbling start, and Potter approached him then.

“Where the train is going, names are optional.” Harry placed a pale hand to Voldemort’s chest; as if feeling for a heartbeat. “And meaningless.” Harry looked off; at something Voldemort could not see. “The train’s running a little tardy.” He then turned to look to the Dark Lord.

The older man felt a lurch of dread, “Where will it take me?”

“To the next station.”

“And where is that?”

“Look inside, and reflect on what you believe. There is not one right answer. The answer you believe is where you will go.”

The man once known as Tom Riddle felt more and more trepidation, envisioning fire, pain, and… loneliness.

“I do not wish to go.” Lord Voldemort said, with a quaver in his voice. “Do not ask me to do this, Harry Potter.”

“What is that you fear, my soul?” Harry asked then, placing a comforting hand on Voldemort’s arm.

“I have done heinous things. I am destined to _burn_.”

“Do not fear, Tom,” Harry said, eyes glimmering, “Behold, I am with you always, even to the end of the age.”

“To the very end?” repeated Lord Voldemort softly.

“To the very end.”

“But… where I am going…there is no place in the bottomless pit for you.”

“Who said anything about that?” Harry gave an ethereal smile, “I will not separate us again, my love. Believe in that _. Believe in me_.”

Harry Potter then placed both of his hands to the Dark Lord’s face, and the taller man bended down. They exchanged a deep kiss, and Voldemort felt the press of wings against his body.

“Besides, we have all the time in the world to catch that train.”

And, as equals, they departed this life.

To the next.

 

** Sources: **

_Waltz: The Sound of Music: Laendler_

<https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SNO_VHAdE_I>

_Behold, I am with you always._

<https://biblehub.com/kjv/matthew/28-20.htm>

_As Equals:_

<https://www.goodreads.com/quotes/399107-and-then-he-greeted-death-as-an-old-friend-and>

 

**A (final) Author’s note:**

What began as _Animus_ was the question: What if Tom Riddle wasn’t an only child? What if he had a ‘twin’ brother? What if that ‘twin’ was Muggleborn: directly contrasting with Tom Riddle’s xenophobia towards Muggles? But as a great fan of _Star Wars_ , I wanted a twist: what if it wasn’t his brother at all, but rather his son? How would this work? Who would influence who?

What became _Animus_ started back in 2016, which was an idea and an outline. I vowed to myself that I would not post the work unless I had finished the entire thing. Life had other plans, so, here we are.

We watch minor villain Tom Riddle grow into a (debatable) hero’s role. Perhaps he is not, as we watch him grow from dislikeable boy to a man stuck to his values, which does still prize pure-blood aristocracy. But this Tom Riddle has had the influence of both his ‘brother’ and Harry Potter, and such, his character, has changed for the better. Tom Potter was created to be the foil and our majority of POV, and yes, it was destined from day one he would fall as the Light Lord. Like many people, not everyone gets the recognition they deserve, or perhaps, what they feel they deserve. Furthermore, sometimes the people we love put their own interests ahead of our own. Some handle it better than others. This bitterness ate at Tom Potter, until it consumed him.

You, readers, made your opinions known when it came to Tom Potter. I was impressed at the amount of loyalty he generated among the base. I did not anticipate he would be liked, being an original character, and, most of you did like him. (key word: _most, not all_ ). Several parts were added and re-written, as he was originally written more of a villainous character. I discovered in writing that no, it wasn’t so black and white for Tom Potter. He was a person, with flaws, and human, with grief and desperation.

Is there a sequel? I would be lying to say I don’t have ideas: actually, 2 more _Animus_ -fics are lodged in my brain. Anything is possible. 

A final thank you- to everyone who commented, sent kudos, subscribed, or just plain clicked. This work is dedicated to you.

To Victory! To the new Dawn!

_Horriblehorcrux_


End file.
